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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111861">Nineteen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lululemonee/pseuds/Lululemonee'>Lululemonee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Betty is pissed, I don't really know what this is, It just might take some time for them to get there, Jughead Jones Loves Betty Cooper, Jughead is a ranter, Multi, YouTubers - Freeform, but i had to write it, social media influencers, they agree on a lot of things, they will probably disagree on a lot as well</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:34:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,175</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lululemonee/pseuds/Lululemonee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jughead Jones has a following. The people enjoy his rants and politics and overall sad boi mood on social media. When he is sent a link to another influencer's video, he has a rather strong reaction...and does something about it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gender Double Standard</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I'm in a mood. I just keep writing! I can't freaking stop!!! </p>
<p>Credit where it's due, this was inspired by a super cute fic called Coop de Grace by justcourbeau. Give it a read!! </p>
<p>I read it, loved it, and thought I'd like to do something like that but...maybe a little darker. Twisty. Like my soul. You don't really see the darkness in chapter one...but, c'mon y'all, it's me. LOL. I love some angst!! And probably violence but we'll see. Anyway...here is the start. Let me know what you think and if I should continue with this one!</p>
<p>TRIGGER WARNING : I talk about gender inequality and rape/sexual assault in this chapter. It is not graphic. It is not even a depiction of the situation but a discussion. You also may not agree with the views that the characters express in the chapter and obviously, that is okay. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. Please don't give me hate for mine or the fictional characters as depicted in this fic. Thank you!</p>
<p>Song Choice : "Til the Casket Drops" by ZZ Ward</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              People tagged him in shit all the time. Some times it made him laugh, other times it made him roll his eyes, and some times it was just pure trash with an interesting header. Then, sometimes, it got him riled up.</p>
<p>              His followers seemed to enjoy when it got him riled up the most. He could get – ranty. He couldn’t help it really. There were just certain topics out there that pissed him off in such a way that he had no choice but to respond with pure vitriol. And his vitriol was acidic; his tongue was sharp, and his wit was razor. He knew this. It was the product of being bullied in junior high before filling out and turning dangerous in when he hit high school. Top that with being ‘too smart for his own good’ and you had a deadly combination.</p>
<p>              He’d found a niche of likeminded individuals on social media and slowly but surely built a rather substantial following. Then there was the unexpected and added bonus that he could monetize his little hobby once he reached enough followers…which he did.</p>
<p>              He worked out an upload schedule, organized a chart of events that he wanted to cover and research. And his followers grew.</p>
<p>              With this growth of his following came to increase of shitposts and people who tagged him in equal parts stupid and brilliant content. So, Jughead had to learn how weed through that and the comments on his own work, both good and bad, as well.</p>
<p>              It was the offensive nature of the tweet that caught his eye, really.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              <strong>@bigbarebatey:</strong></p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII tear this bitch apart </strong>
</p>
<p>             </p>
<p>              There was link attached.</p>
<p>              Jughead didn’t like to think that tearing into people was his modus operandi, but he could admit that he had been known to rip into fellow influencers a time or two, but only when they gave what he perceived to be blatant misinformation. He didn’t tear them down so much as try to educate them…mercilessly.</p>
<p>              The link attached was titled @minicoop19 – Gender Double Standard.</p>
<p>              Christ.</p>
<p>              Probably some nineteen-year-old ditz bitching about being slut shamed – not that he condoned slut shaming. He absolutely did not. People were free to do with their body whatever they chose so long as it was consensual and they were of age. He believed in a live and let live kind of society. However, the whole concept was such a hot button lately that it seemed every tweeniebopper with a camera-phone (which was all of them) couldn’t wait to post a video about how they’d given their first blowjob and felt empowered and damn any man who tried to make them apologize for it. Again, it wasn’t that he disagreed with the sentiment, nor was he opposed to blowjobs (he sure as hell wasn’t that) but enough was enough. These were kids talking about things that they didn’t really understand because they weren’t being educated on the subject and more often than not, he wanted to rant at their parents and not the wannabe youtube star.</p>
<p>              There was a part of him that was sorely tempted to just trash the thing and move on. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d done such a thing, wouldn’t be the last.</p>
<p>              “Eh, fuck it,” he said aloud to no one and clicked the link.</p>
<p>              His first thought when the image had filled his screen, he would be ashamed later to admit, had been ‘fuck me, she’s gorgeous.’</p>
<p>              For starters, she wasn’t some nineteen-year-old kid, which made him curious about her handle. She was probably mid-twenties, golden blonde hair piled haphazardly atop her head, big green eyes, and a plush looking mouth that drew his eye more than he would care to admit. Jughead didn’t care to think of himself as the caveman type, but God, he might follow her just to admire her every now and then.</p>
<p>              He clicked play.</p>
<p>              “Hello, my pretties,” she said into the camera and Jughead smiled because even not knowing a damned thing about this woman, he could hear the irritation that laced her voice, “today we are going to talk about something that those of you that know me know is near and dear to my – internal rage button.”</p>
<p>              Jughead chuckled at that. Internal rage button. He liked that. He had one of those as well.</p>
<p>              “That’s right! Today I was basically slapped in the face by that age-old friend to the patriarch: the gender double standard!”</p>
<p>              Jug leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and thought ‘here we go.’ He settled in, ready to scoff and bluster and get up in arms as he listened to another ‘poor me’ diatribe.</p>
<p>              He was, once again, surprised.</p>
<p>              “For those of you who are new to my humble little channel, I, on top of my graduate classes and part-time job slinging coffee for the caffeine addicted, and of course this little beauty, have a side hustle as a burlesque dancer. Tonight, after my show, I had the good fortune to bear witness to one of the most disgusting displays of toxic masculinity that I have ever seen in my life. I have a friend, a male friend, been in my life forever, we grew up with each other. We haven’t seen each other in a while so he came into the city to see one of my shows! He’s never seen me perform before and he wanted to be supportive – despite the fact that apparently the moment I started to take off my clothes it made him very uncomfortable because it felt like watching his sister strip but he wants to support my art. His words. He really is a beautiful human. Anyway, after the show, we go out for drinks and we’re joined by a few people from the club. Acquaintances, really. Not people that I know well, but the more the merrier.”</p>
<p>              She took a pause and what appeared to be breath to steady her nerves. </p>
<p>              “So, something happened to my friend when we were kids, something he doesn’t talk about often though he should since his is the kind of story that <em>needs </em>to be shared. When we were sixteen, he was targeted and molested by a predatory teacher. I honestly don’t remember how the topic came up but he’d had a drink or two and his guard wasn’t up and he mentioned this. Almost immediately this – fucker- sorry for the language but I am <em>that mad, </em>slaps him on the back and calls him a lucky son-of-a-bitch.</p>
<p>              I just watched my friend’s body completely go rigid with discomfort. He excused himself to leave pretty soon after that.</p>
<p>              So, let me say this…my friend was <em>raped. </em>He was a child that was abused by an adult that was in an authoritative position over him – but the fact that he is a male and she is a female means that he should be slapped on the back and told ‘way to go, bro?’</p>
<p>              No! Just, no!</p>
<p>              That is the same thing as telling a woman that if she’s assaulted while wearing a short skirt that she was asking for it!</p>
<p>              It’s not okay!</p>
<p>              Understand that toxic masculinity does not just affect women! It effects how men see themselves and how they feel they need to be perceived by other men.</p>
<p>              Men are less likely to report sexual assault for fear of being ridiculed. They think, well, I got it up. I came. Was it really rape?</p>
<p>              Yes! It was rape if you said no! If you were forced to perform a sexual act that you did not consent to, it is rape! That your body responded is simply physiology! It has nothing to do with desire.</p>
<p>              Women are constantly being taught from an early age the dangers of sex; that no means no; that unwanted attention is not our fault. We’ve come to a point in society where our parents instill this in us as a way to keep us safe.</p>
<p>              Men are not given this same diligence. They’re patted on the back and showered with condoms.</p>
<p>              When a woman cries, it’s seen as a normal reaction to a stressful situation. We ask her if she’s ok. Does she need anything? What can we do?</p>
<p>              When a man cries, he’s told to suck it up and be a man.</p>
<p>              I say fuck that.</p>
<p>              You cry if you need to cry.</p>
<p>              And no <em>always </em>means no. I don’t care what gender you are.</p>
<p>              And if I ever see that jackass that made my friend uncomfortable again, I might be arrested for my own assault charges for punching him in the nose so…if anyone has bail money handy, hit me up in my dms.</p>
<p>                Alright, people. Stay happy and healthy, and I’ll see you next time.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              The video ended.</p>
<p>             </p>
<p>              Jughead stared at the screen for a long moment, unable to move, unable to think. He was in complete and utter awe.</p>
<p>              She was a <em>goddess</em>.</p>
<p>              He found her on Insta and Twitter and followed her on both. He was shocked and flattered to see that she already followed him.</p>
<p>              And in that moment, he knew he was going to make a response to her video…but it wasn’t going to be what @bigbarebatey was expecting.</p>
<p>              He set up his camera and lights.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Betty’s phone rang as she was brushing her teeth the next morning. She glanced down and saw it was Kevin. Which was odd. Kevin was a firm believer in the text message and that you should only make or answer actual phone calls if you had a job interview of someone was dying. She spit and swiped to answer.</p>
<p>              “Kev?” she said in lieu of a greeting.</p>
<p>              “Oh, my God, Betty!” he exclaimed, “Have you heard of FPenJIII or whatever??”</p>
<p>              “Um…yeah. He has an Instagram and youtube channel. Kind of like me but…well, broodier. Angrier. I follow him on social. He’s pretty funny.”</p>
<p>              “Yeah…so, he made a respond to your video.”</p>
<p>              “What???” Betty almost choked. She’d seen Jughead’s rant responses before, laughed at them even, but she’d never once believed that she’d be the subject of one, “Which video?”</p>
<p>              “The one you made last week,” Kevin said, “about Archie.”</p>
<p>              “I’ll call you back.”</p>
<p>              She hung up and pulled up her accounts. Sure enough, she was tagged in his video.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              In Reply to @minicoop19 on Gender Double Standard</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              She clicked the video.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              His face filled the screen. He didn’t start speaking immediately. She had always thought he was a good-looking guy with his dark, ever-unruly hair and piercing blue-green eyes. In the video, he tugged his gray knit beanie from his head, ran his hands through his hair, and then rubbed them hard over his face.</p>
<p>              “So…I just watched this video. I set up to film immediately after watching it so forgive me if I take a minute, I’m still processing.</p>
<p>              Let me preface by saying, I did not go looking for this video. The link was sent to me via twitter, and I am so going to call this asshole out. @bigbarebatey sent this link to me with the charming and succinct desire for me to quote ‘tear this bitch apart’ unquote.”</p>
<p>              Betty swallowed hard and sat down on the edge of her bed.</p>
<p>              “Now, as I hope you are all intelligent enough to deduce, I am not going to tear into the rather bright and well-spoken miss minicoop19. I need to know what the nineteen is, by the way. She’s not trite enough for it to be the year she graduated or something like that and I don’t believe it’s her age. It’s driving me insane, but I digress.</p>
<p>              I can only assume that bigbarebatey sent this to <em>me </em>specifically because I have gone after gender double standard videos in the past. In my defense, I only ever went after videos in which the narrator was using the idea of the double standard to justify their own moral ambiguity. If you are morally ambiguous, so be it, but own it. Don’t try to justify it by blaming an outside entity for it.</p>
<p>              What minicoop19 has done in her video, and I encourage you all to watch it, is the opposite of moral ambiguity. She speaks with passion and conviction on a very real problem in society today. She is not victimizing anyone. On the contrary, she encourages survivors to tell their stories and to tell them with pride and strength in the knowledge that they have endured something unspeakable and that they made it through it.</p>
<p>              Minicoop19, I don’t know you, I don’t know your friend, but I salute this video.</p>
<p>              Bigbarebatey, you are the fucking problem with the world today. You’re the dumbshit that sat in the back of the classroom, picked your nose, and scoffed at the boobs in the books during health class. You’re the reason women press keys in between their fingers when they walk to their cars in dark parking lots. You send me a video of a strong, enchanting woman speaking of an unfair prejudice that society puts on what they believe should be standard male behavior and tell me to lay into her…like she’s the issue!</p>
<p>              She’s not the issue!</p>
<p>              She’s the fucking solution and unlike minicoop19, who clearly has more class than I do, I will not apologize for my language.</p>
<p>              When are we, as a society, as a species, going to understand that being emotional and sensitive about things is not an inherently feminine trait?</p>
<p>              Being outspoken, assertive, and aggressive in getting what you want is not an inherently masculine trait.</p>
<p>              These are <em>human </em>traits. They come part and parcel with being alive and we should celebrate those qualities in all of us, regardless of what genitalia we happen to possess.</p>
<p>              And young men should be taught, the same as young women, that if someone, anyone, touches them in a way that they are uncomfortable with and don’t consent to, then they need to report that fucking predator to right people immediately because it is not okay and it is okay for them to not be okay with it!</p>
<p>              Anyway, as you can see from the weird upload date and the particularly dark bags under my eyes, I was not planning to film tonight. I am going to sign off and get some much-needed shut-eye.</p>
<p>              To end, I will simply say, minicoop19, I applaud you and your unnamed, courageous friend.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              “Holy shit,” Betty breathed.</p>
<p>              She went to his twitter page and almost swallowed her tongue when she saw the ‘follows you’ notification at the top.</p>
<p>              Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed up a quick little message.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              <strong>@minicoop19:</strong></p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJII it’s for the 19<sup>th</sup> amendment. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>              She made her way back into the bathroom to brush her hair, when her phone dinged with a notification.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              <strong>@FPenJII replied to your post</strong></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>She didn’t know why she felt as giddy as she did, but she fumbled and almost dropped her phone in her rush to open the app.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              <strong>@FPenJII Replying to @minicoop19</strong></p>
<p>
  <strong>              Of fucking course it does!!! Because you’re clearly brilliant!</strong>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two : Something Just Like This</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What all the people are saying...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okay, so don't expect the updates to keep coming this quickly! LOL. I just got cast in a play and I have all the craziness of outside life.</p>
<p>HOWEVER - while the muse is smiling, I'ma writing!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Two : Something Just Like This</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where’d you wanna go?</p>
<p>How much you wanna risk?</p>
<p>I’m not lookin’ for somebody</p>
<p>With some superhuman gifts</p>
<p>Some superhero</p>
<p>Some fairy-tale bliss</p>
<p>Just something I can turn to</p>
<p>Somebody I can kiss</p>
<p>I want something just like this</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh, I want something just like this</p>
<p>Oh, I want something just like this</p>
<p>Oh, I want something just like this</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Belly down and star-fished out across the mattress, his face buried in the soft fluff of his pillow, Jughead was rudely and brusquely ripped from the peace of his slumber when his bedroom door unceremoniously crashed open with a rounding <em>smack </em>into the drywall. He cracked his sleep caked eyes open, blinked against the brightness of the morning, and was greeted by large, almond shaped eyes and glossy dark hair. The only reason he refrained from throwing the nearest chuckable item at Veronica Lodge’s perfectly made up head for interrupting his REM cycle was the fact that she set down a mug of steaming black coffee on the bedside table within smelling distance.</p>
<p>              She then shoved some dirty laundry to the floor and folded herself into the chair at the foot of the bed where she proceeded to scroll through her phone as she awaited his sluggish return to the fully coherent.</p>
<p>              Jughead eased himself to a sitting position and took a long drink from the coffee (sweet nectar.) He ignored the fact that is burned his throat and tongue and took a second, even longer sip.</p>
<p>              He had, of his own free will, fallen into a bit of a rabbit hole as of late. To sum up, he’s started to work his way though @minicoop19’s entire catalogue. She was all over the map when it came to content, but every single episode was filled with her bubbling enthusiasm for whatever she happened to be discussing, be it how she’d sewn her own rainbow tutu for PRIDE or her unfiltered anger directed at states that were trying to make abortion illegal.</p>
<p>              He was completely enamored of her. She fascinated him on nearly every level. He’d also managed to strike up a rapport with her via Instagram DM and he was constantly struggling not to become that creepy guy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: I think I’ve watched all of your videos at this point. I might be your biggest stan. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Even if your views on hiring and promotion is slightly more than subjective. </strong>
  <strong>😉</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: IN WHAT WAY???</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: And thank you for the compliment. </strong>
  <strong>😊</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Her name was Betty Cooper and she was the youngest of three children, hence Mini Coop. She was smart as whip, opinionated, well informed, and absolutely engaging to talk to. He wasn’t sure he’d ever met anyone like her in his entire existence. He smiled into his coffee as he thought of the lively debate they’d had the previous night. It had gone on for the better part of four hours, well into the night and was the reason he was as sleep deprived as he was. Veronica dragged him from his reverie by clearing her throat.</p>
<p>              “So, Torombolo, who is this blonde? I’m half in love with her already, by the way.”</p>
<p>              “You’re half in love with the general populace of New York,” he replied, cranky, “I want my key back.”</p>
<p>              “Don’t be ridiculous,” Veronica countered without looking at him, “you lock yourself out far too often for that to be practical.”</p>
<p>              “At least I lock my door,” Jughead scoffed.</p>
<p>              “One time!”</p>
<p>              “That one time cost you a flat-screen tv and a pair of diamond earrings worth more than my rent.”</p>
<p>              She waved her hand to dismiss the topic in the way that only Veronica Lodge was capable, “Whatever. Get up. I want breakfast.”</p>
<p>              When he didn’t move fast enough, she kicked him in the calf with the pointy heel of her shoe that was probably named after some designer her couldn’t pronounce and also worth more than his rent.</p>
<p>              “Ow!” he snarled and leapt from the bed, “I’m up, dammit, I’m up!”</p>
<p>              He and Veronica should, by all accounts, <em>not </em>work as friends. On paper, she was everything that he despised. The self-important, entitled heiress to a real estate tycoon. And of course, Jug was the gang member delinquent from the wrong side of the tracks in the middle of nowhere Toledo with an absent mother and an alcoholic father. They were polar opposites.</p>
<p>              But in reality, she was staggeringly independent, fiercely loyal, and kept him in check when he was being a pretentious jackass – which was often. And in turn, he had grown up looking out for himself, would fight to the death for the friends he allowed into his circle, and called her out when she acting snobbish or elitist – which, too, could be often.</p>
<p>              They met in an Intro to Lit course freshman year of NYU and were randomly paired up for an assignment.</p>
<p>              She was a spoiled little reformed mean girl with daddy issues who had somehow managed to imprint on the devil may care hooligan without a cause like a baby duck. She decided he was her best friend in the world – and he fucking loved her for it.</p>
<p>              Jughead tucked into a stack of pancakes swimming in maple syrup, blueberries, and whipped cream as Veronica sat across from him at the table, nibbled at her brioche French toast, and considered him with those shrewd eyes that saw too much.</p>
<p>              He paused mid-chew, “What? What is it? Say it already, whatever it is.”</p>
<p>              “Tell me about the blonde.”</p>
<p>              “Christ, Ronnie,” he let his fork clatter to his plate, unmindful as to how loud the <em>clank </em>was, “she’s just another influencer. She had a nice rant. You saw the video. I responded. How could I not? It was great. What is the big deal? What are you harping on and on about it?”</p>
<p>              “Pardon you, I do not <em>harp</em>.”</p>
<p>              “You’re practically sprouting mythological feathers.”</p>
<p>              “Did you really just ostentatiously call me a harpy?”</p>
<p>              Jug grinned, “This is why we’re friends. You get me.”</p>
<p>              Veronica rolled her eyes and threw a piece of bacon at him – which he immediately caught and popped into his mouth.</p>
<p>              “Jug,” Veronica started again, “have you by any chance read any of the comments from that video?”</p>
<p>              Jug snorted, “C’mon, Ronnie. You know me better than that. I read the first day and then never again. I don’t let myself get sucked into that giant negativity vortex. I have enough nihilism and disdain for life without other people telling me how bad I suck.”</p>
<p>              “Maybe you should take a look on this one.”</p>
<p>              “You telling me what to do, mom?”</p>
<p>              “Her follower count has more than doubled since you posted that video. You did that for her.”</p>
<p>              “Good!” Jug exclaimed, “she has good stuff out there. She deserves the followers.”</p>
<p>              “You need to read the comments. You need to understand what people are seeing in this.”</p>
<p>              “I don’t care what people see.”</p>
<p>              “It could only benefit you.”</p>
<p>              “I. Don’t. Care.” </p>
<p>              “Have I ever steered you wrong?” She asked, to which he arched a single eyebrow. Veronica held up a finger, “We shall not speak of that.”</p>
<p>              “Mmhmm.”</p>
<p>              “Other than that one – miscalculation – have I ever steered you wrong?”</p>
<p>              “No,” he conceded, “but that was a <em>big </em>miscalculation.”</p>
<p>              “Shush!”</p>
<p>              “Yes, ma’am.”</p>
<p>              She took a sip of her coffee, gathered her thoughts, sighed, “You know I love you?”</p>
<p>              Jughead smiled at her rare show of absolute sincerity, “I do.”</p>
<p>              “Then trust me when I say, check the comments on your response post. I think you need to see some of what people are saying about you and this – girl. Hell, you might just find yourself inspired!”</p>
<p>              “I’ll think on it. Best I can do.”</p>
<p>              “That’s all I ask.”</p>
<p>              “Ronnie.”</p>
<p>              “Yes.”</p>
<p>              “You know I love you, too.”   </p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Betty had been on cloud nine for the last couple of weeks. Even since FPenJIII, whom she now knew affectionately as Jughead, had made that video, they had been messaging back and forth of Instagram messenger. The conversations weren’t necessarily anything life-affirming or earth-shattering, but they had each and every one somehow made her feel – seen. He made her feel seen.</p>
<p>              Every time her messenger notification dinged with that little bell, the smiled that crossed her face came as naturally as an involuntary reflex. It was instinct to smile at the thought of Jughead. Like it was part of her makeup. Like she was meant to.</p>
<p>              She had just walked through her door from a long shift at the coffee house where she worked when the ding sounded from her back pocket.</p>
<p>              And of course, she grinned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              <strong> @FPenJIII: Do you think I’d up my follower count if I did my next rant shirtless? </strong></p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Betty stifled her laughter into the palm of her hand, but also blushed because <em>yum</em>. She couldn’t say that though. She pulled it together and responded. She needed to keep it light, not psycho fangirly like she felt – but still dance on that line of flirtation that they were steadily establishing with one another.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: I mean, I’d watch.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: I feel objectified. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: I kinda like it.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: What if I were balancing a bowl of man-n-cheese on my stomach? Would that kill the sex appeal?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Not at all. Might even make it better. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Really?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Oh, yeah. Girls love cheese.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Bold of you to assume that I’m aiming my obvious magnetism at girls. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Sad, hipster emo boys love cheese even more. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: You might be my dream girl. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Betty chewed on her bottom lip. Her cheeks had actually started to ache, she’d been smiling so much. It wasn’t that she didn’t smile before. It wasn’t even that she didn’t smile often. She was a fairly optimistic person by nature. She’d even been called ‘bubbly’ a time or two. It was just that Jughead made her smile – more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Might be?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Touche. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: So, hey, I was talking to my friend Ronnie and…</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Have you looked at the comments beneath your post and my response? </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: I have a love/hate relationship with the comments.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: I love the feedback. I mean, I think anyone who posts any kind of content craves the feedback aspect of it. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: What I don’t love is being told that I’ll get more hits if I shake my ass for the camera. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: I mean…</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Under that same vid I was information that I shouldn’t preach about slut-shaming while wearing a tank top that shows my tits.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: I’d argue the opposite is true. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: I’m sure you would. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: I’m not laughing right now. I swear. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Jerk. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>              Betty wanted to hear him laugh. He’d laughed in his videos before, of course. She knew it was an appealing sound but – she couldn’t explain it even to herself. She wanted to hear it live. Directed at her. She knew, she just <em>knew </em>that it would hit differently that way.</p>
<p>              At that same time, he was still very much a stranger. She didn’t really know him yet.</p>
<p>              Yes, she’d been following him for a little over a year. She – kind of <em>felt </em>like she knew him. But thinking that she knew someone just because she followed them on social media was a sign of fanaticism that made her uncomfortable.</p>
<p>              Dear Lord, she didn’t want to be one of <em>those </em>fangirls.</p>
<p>              She groaned at event the thought and buried her face in her palms…and then her phone dinged again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              <strong>@FPenJIII: So…I take it you haven’t read any?</strong></p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Comments, I mean. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Not in depth. Why?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Just something Ronnie said. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: No worries. I’ll dig into it later.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Have fun with the ass shaking. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: And you with your nudist mac-n-cheese feast.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Semi-nude, thank you. I do have some modesty. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: I feel like that’s a lie. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJII: That’s because you already know me so well.</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Betty tossed her phone to her nightstand and flung herself face down onto her bed. She felt like she was fifteen-years-old again with a schoolgirl crush. She let out a growl of frustration into her pillow at even the <em>idea </em>of that. She hadn’t liked being fifteen when she actually <em>was </em>fifteen. She didn’t want a repeat of the experience. She snatched her phone back up and dialed the only person that she thought might understand.</p>
<p>              “Hello, Lovely,” Kevin answered after a few rings.</p>
<p>              “How pathetic is it if I’m a twenty-four-year-old woman with a fangirl-esque crush?” she asked without preamble.</p>
<p>              “What? Like on Harry Styles?”</p>
<p>              Betty rolled her eyes even thought he couldn’t see her, “No. Not like Harry Styles. Like – Jughead Jones.”</p>
<p>              “The YouTube guy?” he responded.</p>
<p>              “Ugh,” Betty moaned in misery, “So, after that really nice post he made, I – I kinda messaged him – ”</p>
<p>              “Betty!” Kevin exclaimed, delighted.</p>
<p>              “I know!” Betty concurred, “And well, we’ve sort of been talking ever since.”</p>
<p>              “He messaged back?”</p>
<p>              “Yeah.”</p>
<p>              “Ah.”</p>
<p>              “It’s stupid right? Completely ridiculous!” Betty went on, “I mean, he has tens of thousands of followers. I’m probably just one of many!”</p>
<p>              “Hey,” Kevin interrupted, “you are one of a kind!”</p>
<p>              Again, Betty rolled her eyes but she was smiling when she did it, “You’re sweet, Kev, but I’m not looking for a pep talk. I just – need a dose of reality.”</p>
<p>              “You want my honest opinion?” he offered.</p>
<p>              Betty’s inherent tendency toward sarcasm at rhetorical questions slipped past her filter, “No, lie to me.”</p>
<p>              “Betty – ” Kevin chided with his zero-tolerance for such bullshit.</p>
<p>              “Yes. Honesty, please.”</p>
<p>              “I think that if he’s messaging you back – on the regular it sounds like – then it probably means that he thinks you’re worth talking to at the very least.”</p>
<p>              “So, it’s not silly?”</p>
<p>              “Oh, it’s completely silly. He has thousands of followers for God’s sake!”</p>
<p>              “I hate you.”</p>
<p>              “Lie.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Jughead sat at his desk and stared at the login screen of his laptop. He felt tense, pensive, contemplative. These were not unfamiliar sensations, but he had never been so back and forth about the notion of whether he wanted to look into the comments section of his account before. He normally couldn’t care less than what the mass populace was saying about him. It was one of the things that allowed him to post the content that he liked and ignore any backlash, negatively, and griping that might flow his way.</p>
<p>              It was how he continued to just not give a shit.</p>
<p>              But – something in the way that Veronica’s tone had him curious and maybe even a little concerned. He felt a little better since he’d talked to Betty.            </p>
<p>              He’d been worried that maybe people had been cruel, which they were so wont to do from behind the safe anonymity of their keyboards. So, he bolstered up his courage and typed in his password.</p>
<p>              He navigated directly to his response post and started scrolling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              @ashdum35: OMG! @FPenJIII and @minicoop19 is the combination that I didn’t know I needed in my life! How have I never seen it before now??</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @Yaley$$$96: For real! They would be a more dynamic duo the batman and robin! When is the collab??</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @RobmeisterUK: I don’t get what she’s bitching about. Her friend nailed a cougar? What’s the problem?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @BJames4: @RobmeisterUK you’re a tool. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
  <strong>@SylviaMerlot23: @FPenJIII @minicoop19 Collab! Collab! </strong>
  <strong>Collab! Thank you @Bigbarebatey for being such a twat-rocket and bringing these two into each other’s orbits!!!</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>He went to Betty’s original post next. It was more of the same really. His response had more comments than her post, but that was to be expected. Her following was much smaller than his own, but they seemed devoted. As she had mentioned to him herself, her posts seemed to have some negative feedback, but the negative feedback tended to have less to do with the actual video and more to do with sexuality. People loved to comment on her appearance. The positive and negative comments to that effect were equally creepy. Comments complimented her “nice rack” and then shamed her for “using her titties as click bait for guys.” He didn’t really have to deal with <em>that </em>kind of bullshit on his own posts.</p>
<p>              Yet another double standard that made him want to rant at the world. What she had to say was more important than what she wore when she said it. What the fuck was wrong with people that they couldn’t see that?  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>              <strong>@cherrybombshell: Queen, bitches. </strong></p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @ashdum35: Preach!!!</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @JK4EV32: Somebody should show you there are better things to do with that mouth than run it. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @Breezi24: Have you seen @FPenJII’s post???? OMG!</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @45CalHomer: @FPenJIII just did an epic response to this!</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @GrayGubFan285: Seriously! I want an @FPenJIII @minicoop19 team up STAT!!!</strong>
</p>
<p>              It was an interesting mix. There was definitely some negative commentary sprinkled throughout as there always tended to be, but overall it seemed to be a call to collaborate. There seemed to be an ongoing conversation as to how their ideologies synced and differed in ways that were interesting and dynamic. He understood what Veronica had been looking at of course.</p>
<p>              He’d grown Betty’s numbers by replying to her video.</p>
<p>              The two of them in a collaborative piece would surely surge their follower counts.</p>
<p>              Did he really want that? Would she even be interested?</p>
<p>              It was at that moment, his inbox lit with a message that he had been waiting for. His film permit to a rather exclusive event had been approved.</p>
<p>              That struck an idea that he couldn’t seem to shake. He picked up his phone and opened his app.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              <strong>@FPenJIII: Did you have a lovely booty-shaking day?</strong></p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: And yes, I just said booty.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Well, typed.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: I’ll have you know, I am very accomplished at the shaking of the booty.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: I’m sure. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: I was a cheerleader, you know.</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Jughead wasn’t sure, but he thought he might have swallowed his tongue. She was trying to kill him. Their messages always bordered on flirty but she had just purposely put into his head mental image the likes of which he would never recover.</p>
<p>             </p>
<p>              <strong>@FPenJIII: I’m sorry. My brain just exploded.</strong></p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Did you wear the little uniform?</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              He was a Neanderthal. It was official. Betty Cooper had caused him to devolve into a hormone riddled alpha male who wanted to stare at her legs in a tiny little skirt and then pray that she would let him touch them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: LOL. Of course, I wore the TEAM uniform, Jughead. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Do you still have it? </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Plead the 5<sup>th</sup>. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: I’m gonna need photographic evidence. </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: You wish, Jughead Jones.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: On THAT note!!!! </strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: LOL</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Seriously…I have this idea and I was wondering if you might be interested in a collaboration.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: Really?</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: If you’re open to it.</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>              @minicoop19: I am! What’s the idea?</strong>
</p>
<p>             </p>
<p>              Jughead sighed heavily to himself. Here came the tricky part.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              @FPenJIII: Probably best explained in person. Maybe over coffee. Would you be up to meeting me for real? </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Uh-oh! Bughead about to meet in person??? </p>
<p>What do you think so far? How do you feel about Betty? How do you feel about Juggie? I really love Veronica and Jughead as friends. I think there is great potential for a deep friendship between these two and I really want to explore that!</p>
<p>Let me know how y'all feel!!! You know I love to hear from you! Thoughts? Leave a kudos! Leave a comment! Let me know I'm not pissing everybody off!!!</p>
<p>Kisses to all! Bye, now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three: Firebird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jughead makes his...proposition...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter 3!!!!! I am having so much fun with this...I'm so scared I'm gonna piss someone off with the topics though! LOL Please, keep in mind, the opinions reflected by the fictional characters in this story do no necessarily reflect or go against my own opinions and views. They simply fit the narrative that I am trying to tell. My own opinions and views are my own and I do not express them in such a public forum. </p><p>Anyways!! On the story! Please drop a comment to let me know what you think!</p><p>Chapter Three Song Choice : "Firebird" by Milky Chance</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Three:</p><p> </p><p>There’s maybe some but none like you</p><p>We’ll be understood ‘cause you’re the truth</p><p>Give me a few more off to do</p><p>Colour is conquering the love for you</p><p> </p><p>I keep my eyes wide open so I</p><p>Can see there’s a rain drop falling away</p><p>But if your words get suddenly blurred</p><p>You remember that the truth is always worth seeing</p><p> </p><p>You’re like a firebird in the sky</p><p>Shing for a challenger in the night</p><p>Just like a firebird is your heart</p><p>Keeps me warm and anchoring in the stars</p><p>You’re like a firebird</p><p>You’re like a firebird</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>              Giddy. Excited. Anxious. Nervous. Maybe a little manic. Those were all apt descriptors for the bevy of emotions that swirled around like crazy straws in the pit of Betty’s stomach as she waited for Jughead to arrive. She felt like she might throw up but at the same time, she couldn’t force the smile from her face. It was all very confusing.</p><p>              She sat tucked away in a back corner table of the little coffee shop (not the one at which she was employed) that she had suggested as a meeting place for her and Jughead.</p><p>              She was about to meet him, have coffee with him. Those blue-green eyes would look directly at her. She couldn’t breathe. She needed to psychologically prepare herself so that she didn’t immediately start to gush the word-vomit about what a huge, obsessed fan she was of his and inevitable frighten him far, far away. Would he be scared of her? She’d be scared of her if she were him. If he knew even half of the thoughts that ran through her brain when she watched him online.</p><p>              Let’s just say there would be restraining orders filed.</p><p>              But she couldn’t let herself dwell on that! She could keep it together for one cup of coffee. It’s not like she would jump him as soon as walked through the door.</p><p>              She didn’t think.</p><p>              She was gonna try really hard not to jump him as soon as he walked through the door.</p><p>              Besides – it was a business meeting. He wanted to collaborate with her.</p><p>              Which, honestly, was ridiculously flattering in and of itself. She’d almost lost her mind when his message had come through. It had taken colossal self-restraint to stamp down her eagerness and ask about the idea before she pledged to do any and everything that he wanted her to. But it really did feel like a dream that was interested in working with her. Her follower count, while it had increased significantly of late, thanks in large part to him she recognized, was still barely a blip on the radar when compared to his massive numbers.</p><p>              The little bell about the door chimed, drew her attention, and there he was. The well-worn faded jeans he donned had tears in the thighs and his black leather jacket fit him like a second skin. He wasn’t wearing his trademark hat and the thick tasseled locks of dark hair rioted around his head in a way that was stupidly appealing. All in all, he was beautiful.</p><p>              Betty found herself all at once struck with the fear that the electrified butterflies in her stomach would erupt from her mouth the moment that she opened it in attempt to converse with him. Like her lips would part and every thought, every nerve, every feeling and truth would just come spilling out for him to see and analyze.</p><p>              But then his eyes landed on her and a boyish smile of genuine delight lit his face and none of that seemed to matter anymore. He bobbed and weaved his way through tables to get to her and Betty couldn’t help but admire the way that he moved; he slinked, all long-limbed and loose-hipped, confident swagger.</p><p>              She needed to have another conversation with Kevin. This ‘crush’ thing might just be getting a little out of hand.</p><p>              “My God, Betty Cooper,” he said when he reached her side, his eyes alight with something she couldn’t quite place, “Do I say it’s nice to meet you when I kind of already feel like I know you? What’s appropriate here?”</p><p>              It was the exact right thing to say. It struck such an unexpected chord with her own fears and insecurities that a laugh burst from her mouth without her consent. The nervous tension just seemed to drain from her shoulders and she felt the butterflies in her stomach calm from a frantic tornado to a kind soothing flutter.</p><p>              She smiled up at him, offered her hand, “How about we settle for it’s good to meet you in person?”</p><p>              His answering grin was a mental snapshot that she would keep with her forever and take out on bad days to remember that this charismatic wonder of a man had once looked at her in such a way. His smile was white, just a little crooked, and so charming it really shouldn’t have been legal. He pointed to her drink.</p><p>              “Can I grab you another?”</p><p>              Her cup <em>was </em>almost empty because she had shown up insanely early – a combination of her predisposition toward obsessive compulsion and years of Alice Cooper (her mother) browbeating punctuality into her brain. It was a little embarrassing to be honest, but she rather hoped that maybe he would just think she chugged her coffee <em>really </em>quickly.</p><p>              But it had been a large. That’s a lot to chug.</p><p>              Was that better or worse for him to believe?</p><p>              Would he think her an overcaffeinated psycho if she ordered another?</p><p>              Maybe she should just ask for a water?</p><p>              More coffee might make her even twitchier than she already was. Did she really want him to see her like that?</p><p>              But maybe it was better for him to see who she really was when it came down to it before he decided whether or not to go through with this collaboration.</p><p>              Was she overthinking?</p><p>              She might be overthinking?</p><p>              Was she?</p><p>              “Betty?” Jughead interrupted her inner ran and she realized that she had just been sitting there.</p><p>              “Oh! Yes!” she answered on instinct, “Uh, just a cold-brew with sweet-cream would be great!”</p><p>              “You got it.” He said and moved away from the table toward the line at the counter.</p><p>              Just like that.</p><p>              She had definitely been over thinking.</p><p>              Betty took advantage of his distance to, first, admire the way his jeans rather lovingly cupped his ass and, second, to get control over her composure. His presence was – distracting.</p><p>              While he was away to order the beverages, she grabbed her phone and shot off a quick text message. An SOS really.</p><p> </p><p>              <strong>Betty: God, Kev, he’s even better looking in person! Help! </strong></p><p>
  <strong>              Kevin: 1 to 10?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Betty: Solid 15. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Kevin: *gasp* </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Kevin: It’s the hair, isn’t it? I love his hair.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Betty: He’s coming back. TTYL!</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Kevin: Call me!</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>              Jughead rejoined her, dropped into the seat across from her with the ease of a lounging predatory cat. He slid her drink in front of her and then took a long pull from his own. Betty tried not to stare at the attractive way his Adams apple bobbed when he swallowed. Instead, she turned her gaze to her own coffee and took a sip.</p><p> </p><p>              Jughead ran his tongue over her chapped lips, cracked his knuckles, and looked around the coffee shop. He couldn’t seem to bring himself to look at her. He always thought people tended to look better on camera. Filters, lighting, whatnot. But Betty on camera was beautiful, Betty in realty was a goddess. Her hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders, her skin was smooth and soft looking, her lips were shiny and pink and he wanted to bite them.</p><p>              Like a barbarian.</p><p>              “So…” she eased and he realized that he was being prompted. She wanted him to start talking.</p><p>              Because that was what he called her here for. Not to gawk at her in public like a brainless caveman incapable of speech.</p><p>              “Right! So,” he said and forced his gaze to her lovely green eyes, “So – I – there really is no good non-creepy way to do this.”</p><p>              “Your collaboration idea is – creepy?”</p><p>              Jughead tried to backpedal, “Not so much the idea as the asking part.”</p><p>              She smiled, like a fucking angel, leaned forward with her forearms on the table, “Well, why don’t you just ask? Get it over with and we can go from there.”</p><p>              He considered that, chewed at the skin of his chapped bottom lip. Maybe she was right. He just needed to spit it out there. What was the worst that could happen, after all?</p><p>              She could say no.</p><p>              She could call him a pervert.</p><p>              She could leave and never speak to him again.</p><p>              Not helping.</p><p>              “Yeah,” he said with a nod and puffed his chest as though that alone would increase his courage, “Yeah, okay. So – I have the tickets already –”</p><p>              “Okay.”</p><p>              “My filming permit approval came through the other day.”</p><p>              “Good.”</p><p>              “There’s this –” he took a deep breath, this was really the moment of truth, “there’s a triple x con in town next month –”</p><p>              Betty blinked, “I’m sorry, are you asking me to go to a – porno convention – with you?”</p><p>              “Is there <em>any way </em>to make that not creepy?”</p><p>              “Not really.”</p><p>              “See!”</p><p>              "So, you want me to collaborate with you on – porn?”</p><p>              “Yes. NO!” Jughead shook his with a franticness that he hadn’t even known himself capable of, “No, not on <em>porn</em>. Not like – oh, God! This is a nightmare.”</p><p>              She was going to leave. She was going to leave and block him on all social media outlets and he’d never be able to see her again. What in the hell had made him think this a good idea? Why couldn’t he just ask her to cover an upcoming political debate or something? Dammit, Jughead!</p><p> </p><p>              Betty watched as Jughead dropped his face into his hands, then he ran them up through that glorious mane of hair. She bit back a smile. It was kind of nice to see him so flustered. It made him seem more human and calmed her nerves considerably. She even gathered the courage to reach over and put her hand on his forearm. He raised his gaze back up to her at the touch she’d mean to comfort.</p><p>              “Jug, why don’t you tell me what angle you’re wanting to approach?”</p><p>              “Sex work.”</p><p>              Well, she hadn’t expected that. She drew her hand back and he must have read her surprise in her face because he once again hurried to correct himself.</p><p>              “Not like that!” he exclaimed, “I really making a mess of this. Not – not the <em>sex </em>part. Well, a little of the sex part. But – like, the <em>stigma</em> of sex work, you know?”</p><p>              Okay, he had her intrigued with that one. She felt her brow furrow in concentration, something she knew she did when something caught her interest. Again, Jughead read her correctly.</p><p>              “Okay, look,” he went on, “you’re a dancer, right? Burlesque?”</p><p>              “Mmhmm…” she confirmed, unsure as to where he was going.</p><p>              “There’s a certain stigma attached to that, isn’t there?”</p><p>              “Oh, absolutely!” Betty said and felt the excitement start to seep in as she began to piece together his train of thought.</p><p>              He was nodding with enthusiasm, “Because it falls into one of the subcategories of sex work which has specific connotations. Plus, you’re a woman!”</p><p>              “Thanks for noticing.”</p><p>              “I mean, you bring to the table elements that I literally cannot. You bring the female perspective and you’re a member of an offshoot of the community. I think your voice would be a crucial component to the piece that I’m trying to put together.”</p><p> </p><p>              Jughead thought he might be in the middle of a coronary event. He felt flushed and sweaty and like he might need to jump out of the window at any moment. Had he completely botched this? The last thing he ever wanted to do was offend Betty.</p><p>              But then she smiled, bright and warm and sunshine, and he felt every muscle within his body relax.</p><p>              "Next time,” she said, “lead with that.”</p><p>              Jughead laughed out of the sheer relief that flowed through him with her words, his shoulders sagged as though a weight had been lifted, “Hey, give a guy a break. You make me nervous.”</p><p>              “<em>I </em>make <em>you </em>nervous?” she asked as though she didn’t believe him.</p><p>              “You do own a mirror, right?”</p><p>              Her bright green eyes narrowed, “Yes. I also own a brain.”</p><p>              “Yeah,” Jug grinned at her, “that’s pretty intimidating, too. You’re the total package, Coop.”</p><p>              She propped her chin up on the palm of her hand and gave an exaggerated bat of those long, sooty eyelashes, “Awe, I bet you say that to all of your thousands of adoring followers.”</p><p>              “God, no! Most of my followers scare the hell outta me!”</p><p>              “Jughead!”</p><p>              “What? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I seem to appeal to a lot of weird ass people!”</p><p>              Her laughter was musical.    </p><p> </p><p>              He really was better in person, she thought to herself. She used the tip of her finger to trace little patterns in the condensation that had gathered on the glass of her iced coffee. “So,” she started, “we’re going to do this? Collaborate?”</p><p>              His eyes were soft, so soft Betty swore her heart gave an extra little jump inside of her chest, “I definitely want to do this with you.”</p><p>              “Well, all right then,” she said, bit her lip and took the plunge, “we should probably – you know – exchange actual phone numbers and emails. So, we can plan. Sort out details. That kind of thing.”</p><p>              He pulled his phone from his back pocket, unlocked it, and slid it across the table to her. “Send yourself a text.”</p><p>              Betty snatched it up. Her eyes lingered on his wallpaper. It was him with his arm draped around the shoulder of a pretty brunette that was smiling up at him with obvious love.</p><p>              Her throat tight, Betty pulled up his texts and began typing in her number, then tried with everything in her to sound nonchalant when she said, “Pretty girl.”</p><p>              Jug grinned as though he knew exactly what she was doing, “My kid sister, Jellybean. I say kid. She’s a freshman at Cal Tech.”</p><p>              Yes! Betty’s brain screamed. Her mouth said, “I’m sorry, Jellybean? Jughead and Jellybean?”</p><p>              His laugh was loud, boisterous, and from deep in his belly. He threw his head back and closed his eyes with the force of it and Betty had been right in her previous thoughts. The sound of it and the knowledge that she had been the cause hit her in all the right places.</p><p>              “I’ll tell you, Betts, they are nicknames. The reality is soooo much worse.”</p><p>              She slid his phone back over to him, “Well, now you have to tell me.”</p><p>              He grinned as he added her number to his contacts, “If I do, you have to swear to secrecy for all time.”</p><p>              “Is it that bad?”</p><p>              “Oh, it’s that bad.”</p><p>              “Do I need to prick a finger? Should we make this pact in blood?”</p><p>              “Eh, I trust you. I spit shake should suffice.”</p><p>              “That’s disgusting.”</p><p>              “But swapping blood it totally acceptable.”</p><p>              God he was cute. And he could keep up with her. She didn’t want to come off as arrogant, but she had been around too many men who just ended up staring at her blankly when she would make a comment. The fact that Jughead was able to fire right back at her and keep up a volley – was really freaking hot and arousing.</p><p>              She would not leap across the table at him.</p><p>              “Okay,” she said, “I promise not to reveal the secret of your name.”</p><p>              He tugged at his bottom lip with his thumb, then answered, “Okay, you know my handle is F Pen Jay 3?”</p><p>              “I do.”</p><p>              “My name is Forsyth Pendleton Jones the Third.”</p><p>              “Wow. There’s three of you?”</p><p>              “My dad didn’t want to suffer alone,” he answered with a sigh, “my sister. She’s Forsythia.”</p><p>              “You made that up.”</p><p>              “Nope.”</p><p>              “That’s cruel, is what that is,” Betty said, then worried she may have offended him.</p><p>              To her relief, he laughed again, “You can see why we prefer Jughead and Jellybean.”</p><p>             </p><p>              They finished their coffees and Betty kept waiting for Jughead to say he had to go, to stand up and rush off.</p><p>              But that never happened. He just kept smiling, kept talking, kept laughing with her. It was in the midst of one round of laughter, her eyes full of joyful water, her cheeks flushed red, that she said, “Oh, wow! I wish you had your beanie!”</p><p>              He cocked an eyebrow, then reach into the pocket of his jacket a pulled out the gray knit cap that was his signature. He dropped it in front of him on the table, then hit her with his faux serious blue-green gaze, “Why?”</p><p>              Betty wanted that hat. Just for a second.</p><p>              “Okay, hear me out,” she said, “I know you don’t do stuff like this, but I like to put little teaser posts up on my Instagram to kind of hint at stuff that I’ll be covering soon. Would you mind if I took a picture wearing your beanie?”</p><p>              All of her girly parts gave a little <em>squeeze</em> in response to the slow smile that spread across his face. He grabbed the hat, stood from the table, then slid over to her side and sat back down beside her. He placed the beanie on her head and adjusted the angle until it was just right.</p><p>              Then he said, “I want a copy of the picture.”</p><p> </p><p>              Later that night, @minicoop19 posted a picture of herself in a cozy corner booth of a quaint little coffee shop with a gray knit beanie perched jauntily on her head. The caption read simply :</p><p> </p><p>              <strong>@minicoop19: You wanted it, you got it.  Coming soon… </strong></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>              @Ashdum35: Is that @FPenJIII hat???? YASSSSS!!!! </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>              @BossB!tchLodge: About damn time, @FPenJIII</strong>
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</p><p>
  <strong>              @Reit16Fav: Please, please, please tell me this means what I think it means!</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>              @DimitzLett#42: You’re so gorgeous!</strong>
</p><p>
  
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  <strong>              @EricaLemons888: I really don’t see what all the fuss is about. </strong>
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  <strong>              @IvyLeagueLegacy: @minicoop19 You look beautiful as always, but should you be wearing his hat? That could give people the wrong idea.</strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There we are! They are going to work together on something naughty!!! What do you think of Juggie's idea?? I will hint that you should pay attention to the comments... </p><p>PS - I have no idea if these conventions actually exist. I got the idea from a super cute movie called "The Girl Next Door" and that is what I am basing the idea of the con on. </p><p>Anyway - leave me a comment. I live and breathe for your feedback! Also, I hate to admit it, but my motivation to post is directly proportionate to the amount of feedback I receive. I'm sorry - it's just how it is! That said, let me know what you think! Comment, kudos, both! I love it all!!!</p><p>Kisses to all! Bye, now!!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four: Closer to Myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Betty and Jug spend some time together...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, Betty and Jug are getting to know each other... and we delve a little bit more into what happened to Archie and why Betty is rather protective of him. They are still scratching at the surface but they do not shy away from serious conversations. Kind of a filler chapter, but it information that needs to be revealed. </p><p>TRIGGER WARNING : Mentions of abuse, though not graphic.</p><p>Song Choice for Chapter Four : "Closer to Myself" by Kendall Payne</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Four :</p><p> </p><p>Paint me in a different light</p><p>Shed me another coat of skin</p><p>Mark me with ash until I’m clean again</p><p>Cause I’m so sick and tired of being sick and tired</p><p>I know I can love you, I know that I can</p><p> </p><p>I want to feel something sweeter than this sin</p><p>Cover me in leaves and roll me over again</p><p>Cause I’ve been everybody else, now I want to be</p><p>Something closer to myself</p><p> </p><p>              “You asked Betty to <em>what</em>?” Veronica cackled at him over the rim of her overpriced red wine.</p><p>              Jughead chewed on a toothpick, twirled his half-full beer bottle around on the tabletop, “She’s going to collaborate on my idea for destigmatizing sex work.”</p><p>              Veronica leaned back in her seat, “Wow. You – you are something, Jug. Aren’t you going to that porn con for that piece? How did that conversation go?”</p><p>              “Awkwardly.”</p><p>              “I bet!” she agreed, “And she didn’t smack you?”</p><p>              Jughead considered, “I think she thought about it for a minute there.”</p><p>              “I’d be worried if she didn’t,” she laughed, “She is cute, though. I ship it.”</p><p>              “Please, don’t start that shit, Ron,” he said with a glare.</p><p>              Veronica beamed at him and her voice dipped into a honied sing-song, “Be honest. You think she’s pretty. You want to kiss her.”</p><p>              “God! Can you just stop being so…<em>you</em>?” Jughead demanded, but he was smiling as he did so.</p><p>              “Please,” Veronica countered with a sip of her wine, “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”</p><p>              Jughead took a pull of his beer, leaned back, and didn’t even try to mask the blatant affection in his eyes, “You’re not wrong.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Porn?”</p><p>              “Sex work,” Betty corrected.</p><p>              Through the screen of their FaceTime call, Archie raised an eyebrow, “So…prostitution and porn.”</p><p>              Betty paused in her borderline manic tidying of her apartment, turned to face her laptop, propped her hands on her hips, “I am disappointed in you, Archie Andrews.”</p><p>              “I don’t care if the term isn’t considered politically correct anymore, that’s what it is!” Archie exclaimed so loud her computer’s tiny speakers vibrated as he threw his hands out wide, “This Jughead guy wants to take you to a dirty convention and talk about sex! I’m not saying I’m against it, because honestly if anyone needs to get laid –”</p><p>              “Don’t go there, Arch!”</p><p>              “I’m just sayin’.”</p><p>              “Look,” Betty tried, once again, to explain over Archie’s tendency to hear only what he wanted to hear, sat down at her little dinette table to look directly into the camera, “the conversation he wants to start is about sex work and how the stigma it carries should be argued against.”</p><p>              “Should it, though?”</p><p>              “Archie, you know I’m considered a sex worker, right?”</p><p>              Archie blinked at that.</p><p>              Blinked again.</p><p>              “No.”</p><p>              “Yes,” Betty nodded, “I may not sell my body, per se, but I sell the idea of it. I sell a fantasy.”</p><p>              Archie looked a little green in the gills, as though the idea of sex being linked to her in any way was somewhat appalling…which was a little ironic coming from him.</p><p>              Betty pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, “Arch, you know I love you. How, I repeat, <em>how </em>did you not view me taking my clothes off during a performance a type of sex work?”</p><p>              He shrugged, “I guess it never really came up.”</p><p>              “Do you see now why I’m so interested in the video that Jughead wants to do?”</p><p>              He shrugged again, “I really thought it mainly had to do with you wanting to get into his pants.”</p><p>              Betty burst out into laughter at that. Sweet, sweet Archie. God bless his somewhat stunted, one-track, ever adolescent mind. She hoped he never changed.</p><p>              “I mean,” Betty gasped, “I’m not saying I’d turn him away if he offered.”</p><p>              “I don’t wanna think about that!”</p><p>              “You’re the one who brought it up!”</p><p>              “Well,” Archie laughed, “I’m burying it back down.”</p><p>              “Uh-huh, okay,” Betty said with true fondness. She messed Archie. He’d been her rock through so much in her life, the kind of friend that you were lucky to find once in a lifetime and she’d found him right next door of all places.</p><p>              “So,” he started, “I’m – I’m finally doing it. I’m gonna move to the city.”</p><p>              Betty felt the jerk of surprise that crossed her own brow but she masked it as quickly as possible, “That’s – that’s great, Arch, seriously. But – are you sure?”</p><p>              “Yeah,” he said, then paused and looked away from the screen. Betty watched the unmistakable signs of deep sadness cross his usually jovial face as he continued, “Yeah, there’s nothing left for me here.”</p><p>              Betty felt his words in the pit of her stomach. There was no one on the planet that tried harder to be happy and to make others happy than Archie and to see him so low, even for a second, to believe that he had <em>nothing </em>was a blow not easily recovered from. “Does that mean that – ”</p><p>              “Yeah – yeah, that’s over.”</p><p>              Betty drew a deep breath, “I don’t want to be <em>that </em>friend, Arch, but what did you think was gonna happen when you – ”</p><p>              “I get it, Betty!” he cut her off, “Believe me! I get it!”</p><p>              “Okay.”</p><p>              He rubbed both hands hard over his face and emptied all of the air out of his lungs on a lengthy sigh. Betty just sat there, waited him out, knew he’d talk to her again when he was ready. And so he did.</p><p>              “I’m trying, Betty,” he said, his voice so soft it broke her heart, “I’m really trying. It’s just – it’s hard sometimes…to keep it all straight in my head.”</p><p>              “I know, Arch,” Betty said and wiped a stray tear from her cheek, then shook herself out of the morose mood, plastered on a bright smile and chirped, “It’s gonna be great having you in the city!”</p><p>              Archie latched on to the subject change like a drowning man grasped a life vest, “I’m pretty excited. I figure I can get a day job and then play dive bars at night until I make a name for myself.”</p><p>              “Solid plan,” Betty chuckled, “and you know I have pull-out sofa with your name on it until you can find a decent place.”    </p><p>              “I love you, Betty.”</p><p>              “I love you, too, Archie.”</p><p>              By the time she’d ended her FaceTime call with Archie, she was completely mentally and emotionally drained. He had a way of doing that, through no fault of his own. Archie had never been great at making healthy decisions in his life. This last one, the thing that was “over” had been another debacle that he’d stumbled into just by being himself. He’d date one girl and, in his desire to spend time with her, he’d started spending time with her all-girl band … where he’d gotten close to her fellow bandmate. Then he’d gotten <em>too </em>close to her fellow bandmate. In his defense, he never went into those situations looking to hurt anybody. He just had a hard time expressing affection in ways that didn’t revolve around physical intimacy. </p><p>              She shook off the conversation, took a long hot shower, and settled into bed for the night. She’d just decided on an old cartoon she’d watched in childhood to go to sleep to when he phone buzzed.</p><p>             </p><p>              <strong>Jug: Hey, Coop. You up? </strong></p><p>
  <strong>              Betty: I am awake, yes.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Jug: So… I was thinking we should get together again. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Jug: To talk about the piece. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Jug: I mean, if you want. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Jug: If you can. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>              Jug: Whatever. </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>              Betty chuckled. She could practically hear his nerves through the text messages. It still kind of blew her mind that <em>he </em>got nervous around <em>her</em>. It made her feel…kind of powerful. That was probably wrong on so many levels, but she didn’t care. She liked him. She really liked him. And if his nerves served as an indication that maybe he might like her back, dammit, she’d take it!</p><p>              So, she decided to be bold. Fortune favors the bold!</p><p>              Right?</p><p> </p><p>              <strong>Betty: Sure. You want to come over to mine? </strong></p><p>
  
</p><p>              Jughead had spent the last seven minutes pacing back and forth in front of a fifteen-story building at the address that Betty had given him. Her address. He knew that she was eight stories above him that very moment. She had invited him over to her apartment – that had to mean that she didn’t think he was a porn-obsessed-pervert-creeper, right?</p><p>              It was stupid to be as nervous as he was. They’d met in person just a few days ago. She’d agreed to work with him. She’d messaged him several times since, several messages that <em>she’d </em>initiated. They’d had a good rapport at coffee – once he’d pulled his foot out of his mouth anyway. She seemed to like him fine.</p><p>              He didn’t need to be nervous.</p><p>              But dammit – he <em>liked </em>her even more.</p><p>              When he’d proposed they get together again, he hadn’t been prepared for an immediate invitation. He hadn’t been prepared to be invited to her home. The place she lived. The place that would tell him so many things about this beautiful creature that had basically ranted her way into his life and mind and heart.</p><p>              He walked with purpose to the intercom and rang the buzzer for apartment 8E before he could talk himself out of it again.</p><p>              “Hello?” her voice came, melodious even through the static of the outdated intercom.</p><p>              “Hey, Coop,” he greeted.</p><p>              She didn’t reply, but door swung open with a loud <em>ZZZZZZ. </em></p><p>              A minute and a half in a rickety elevator and then he was standing outside of her door. It swung open before he’d even raised his hand fully to knock.</p><p>              “Hi, Juggie!” she chirped.</p><p>              Her hair was piled in a messy topknot, her face was scrubbed clean, she wore a pair of little pink running shorts, a tee shirt with a picture of a cat wearing sunglasses, and her feet were bare. She looked – cuddlable. Touchable.</p><p>              She looked like the kind of girl that would totally cool being a homebody, curled up in bed to listen to the rain and watch a movie rather than looking constantly for somewhere to go. He wanted that.</p><p>              He wanted her.</p><p> </p><p>              Betty had a mild anxiety attack after she’d buzzed Jughead in the front door. She knew about how long the elevator took to reach her floor and she spent that entire time wondering if she should have fixed her hair…maybe put on a little concealer… or a more presentable outfit. But Archie had told her once that guys liked it when women weren’t all fixed up. Something about them seeming comfortably and relaxed…and that was what she wanted with Jughead when it came down to it.</p><p>              Comfort.</p><p>              Relaxation.</p><p>              Maybe at some point hot, sweaty sex but she was really trying not to dwell on that.</p><p>              So, she had stayed in her comfy lounge clothes. She wanted him to know herself; not the Stepford robot that her mother had strived all her life to turn her into. She wanted him sto see her as she was. Simple kick-around clothes, messy hair, no makeup – though she had quickly swiped on a couple of layers of mascara – she wasn’t an idiot – and still made it to the door to greet him. He looked a little startled when she pulled the door open, and Betty chided herself for a moment. She probably should have waited for him to actually <em>knock </em>on the door. She probably appeared way too overeager, but dammit, it was too late. She had an urge to yank him into the apartment and shut the door before he had the chance to get away.</p><p>              She suppressed it.</p><p>              Thank, God.</p><p>              Instead, she said, “Come on in! I ordered some Chinese food. I remember you mentioning an affinity for general sao chicken, so that’s what I ordered you. I hope that’s alright!”</p><p>              She could do this. She could be normal around this beautiful man that she was insanely attracted to.</p><p>              He grinned and wondered around the living room of her small apartment, all dark leather and black denim amongst the pale blues and yellows of her wallpaper and furniture. He shouldn’t fit at all and yet she thought he fit seamlessly. Perhaps that was just her hopes. She wanted him there. Wanted him to become a permanent part of her life.</p><p>              “That’s sounds great,” he said.</p><p>              “Can I hang your coat for you?” she asked, those ingrained Cooper manners ever present and forefront despite years of trying to subdue them.</p><p>              He shrugged out of the leather jacket and offered it to her. The leather was soft and supple beneath her fingers. A well-loved garment, she thought as she slipped it into the hallway closet. Beneath it, Jughead wore a fitted heather gray Henley that Betty wanted to pet.</p><p>              “Do you want a glass of wine? Or – I think I have a beer…but I’m pretty sure it’s Ultra Light.”</p><p>              He chuckled, “Wine sounds great.”</p><p>              An hour later, they were each on their third glass of cabernet and Betty was in awe of the way Jughead had demolished his order of chicken, the extra rice, two eggrolls, and half of her sesame chicken. They had carried their glasses into the living room where they lounged on the sofa with their feet propped up on her sturdy coffee table (after she had demanded that Jughead removed his heavy combat boots, of course.)</p><p>              “I’m still not sure how you ate <em>all </em>of that food,” Betty laughed as she flipped through Netflix in search of a show to watch with him. She was slightly distracted by the sight of his socked feet beside her own. She liked the image a little too much.  </p><p>              “I told you I like food,” he retorted, “Just turn on the Nightstalker documentary.”</p><p>              “I’ve watched it already.”</p><p>              He shrugged, “So have I. But it’s interesting enough.”</p><p>              Betty felt her heart flutter. The only real reason to rewatch something they had both seen was if he had no intention of paying attention to the show.</p><p>              She hit play on the documentary, and angled her body more toward him.</p><p>              Sure enough, soon they were talking and laughing and sipping at their glasses of wine, the television forgotten as white noise in the background. Jughead just kept getting better and better the more time that she spent with him. He was funny, his wit dry and sharp, his conversation intelligent, his well-spoken words always well thought out before he said them. He pulled the beanie from his head and dropped it onto her coffee table by his feet, ran a hand through those riotous black locks. Betty wanted to twist her own fingers into it as well.  </p><p>              Jughead’s head fell back against the sofa cushions, his eyes had taken on that glassy slumberous look of just this side of tipsy, “I feel like I’ve been talking for an hour. I’ve been wanting to ask you – and I don’t want to pry so feel free to tell me it’s none of my business – but how is your friend? The one – ”</p><p>              “Ah,” Betty smiled into her wineglass, “Archie. I don’t think he’d mind me telling you his name. He’s actually moving to the city soon and I’m – so happy about that.”</p><p>              “Hmm.”</p><p>              “What?”</p><p>              “Well, I believe you,” he said, but his gaze narrowed as though she were a puzzle for him to solve, “but there’s something else there, too.”              </p><p>              “You’re too clever by half,” she shot back, but she smiled.</p><p>              He smirked in that almost arrogant way of his, “You’re not the first to say so.”</p><p>              “Archie is complicated. He just got out of – another relationship. He’s so genuinely good, you know. It’s just that what happened to him really screwed him up. The whole thing with our teacher, it happened right after his parents separated and his mother moved out of town for her job. I mean, he was obviously in the midst of emotional issues that revolved around the main maternal figure in his life and this woman – I use the term loosely – just <em>pounced </em>on him like she could smell weakness – ”</p><p>              “All predators can.”</p><p>              Betty couldn’t suppress her smile at the interjection, “After – it was like the only notion of love that he understood centered around sex. He never really learned how to be in a relationship that wasn’t extremely sexual. And I’m not saying that a sexual relationship is bad, quite the opposite. Sex is necessary for most romantic relationships. Not all, but most. But, Archie, he seemed to believe that he was only <em>worth </em>whatever physical pleasure he could bring into the relationship. Like without that, he didn’t matter. The abuse, it really skewed the development of his love language. And I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t realize how bad he had truly gotten until…”</p><p>              She trailed off.</p><p>              Jughead shuffled closer to her on the sofa, touched a hand to her knee, prompted her to continue, “Until?”</p><p>              Betty took a heavy breath through her nose, a deep drink of her wine, “Until our senior year when he tried to have sex with <em>me.</em>”</p><p>              “Ah.”</p><p>             </p><p>              Jughead watched as Betty’s face turned red and she looked slightly uncomfortable. He hoped it was just the topic and not him. He started to remove his hand from her knee, but hers dropped to cover it, hold in there. He took the hint and squeezed before he relaxed deeper into the cushions.</p><p>              “To be fair, I think he’d truly been trying to comfort me at the time,” she went on, “but again, he didn’t know how to do that without sex. My parents had just informed me they were splitting up. I ran to Archie’s, he lived next door. He was the only person I knew whose parents were also separated. And – well, he was my best friend. I burst into his bedroom crying. I mean, ugly crying, full-on sobbing. He pulled me to the bed and put his arm around while I poured my heart out to him. We’d always been like siblings, so when he stuck his tongue in my mouth and tried to reach his hand between my legs, I didn’t exactly know how handle the situation.”</p><p>              Jughead winced, “I’m going to assume you handled it badly.”</p><p>              “Understatement,” Betty blushed the most precious pink, her hand began to fiddle with his fingers that still rested against her bare knee, “I still didn’t know about his trauma, so I shoved him away from me, slapped him across the face, and threw up in his trashcan. Obviously, that was not the appropriate way in which to deal with the situation and certainly not a good way to have behaved toward my oldest friend.”</p><p>              Jughead set his wine glass down, moved even closer to her until their hips touched. He draped one arm around her shoulders, not in a move, but to comfort. Since it had been the hand that had been on her knee, he replaced it with his now free other hand. He was delighted when she resumed her play with his fingers and rested her head on his bicep.</p><p>              “You were just a kid, Betty,” he said, “You were <em>both </em>just kids.”</p><p>              She was captivating. He’d know it from the beginning, but being in her home, in her safe space, and seeing her with her guard down was a revelation. Her apartment was small, one bedroom, a gally kitchen with a dinette table, a living room, and a bathroom just outside her bedroom door. She was surround by framed pictures of friends and family (he assumed), people that she obviously loved. On the walls were hung abstract paintings in a rainbow of colors, bright and optimistic as she was. Her sofa was fluffy and comfortable, a pale blue with blue, yellow, and floral cushions. Her television was large enough, a flat screen, but it was older. She got her Netflix through an x-box which may have been the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his life. There was a tall bookcase that overflowed with every kind of book imaginable, mystery novels, trashy romance, and serial killer biographies alike. Everything about her home confirmed what he had already believed to be true – she was a kind, smart, brilliant woman who knew how to take care of herself as well as those around her.</p><p>              And as he listened to her talk about her friend, he felt himself start to fall just a little bit in love with her.</p><p>              “He chased after me, crying, apologizing. Said he didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he did the things that he did. It was a blessing in disguise because that was the night that he told me everything – about our teacher, about the countless girls that followed, when everything had started. That was when I knew he needed more help than I could give him.”</p><p>              Jughead nodded, held her even tighter.</p><p>              “I convinced him to tell his dad everything. He’s been in therapy for a while not but – it’s a process. He’s still working his way through it all.”</p><p>              “What about your teacher?” Jughead asked after a moment, “Did she ever have to face any consequences?”</p><p>              “Turned out she was working under a fake name. They tried to find her but – did you know that statutory rape has a statute of limitations? Doesn’t that seem fucked up to you? But there you have it! God bless the legal system and its many loopholes that keeps criminals on the streets.”</p><p>              She took another long pull from her wine.</p><p>              “I couldn’t agree with you more on that point if you paid me,” Jug nodded, “That’s right up there with attempted murder. Attempted murder is considered a <em>lesser </em>charge than murder. I mean, the <em>intent </em>was there! They’re gonna get a lighter sentence because they failed at their goal?”</p><p>             </p><p>              Betty grinned, leaned even more toward him, admired the green-blue of his pretty eyes, “I really like talking to you, Juggie.”</p><p>              He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to taste her. To pull her into his arms, caress her and hold her and touch her in every way imaginable.</p><p>              But he didn’t think it was the right time for that. Not with the conversation that they had just had.</p><p>              So, he brushed the pad of his thumb across the apple of her cheek and said, “I like talking to you, too, Betty.”</p><p>              “Maybe I shouldn’t have rambled on about all of that but –”</p><p>              “I asked.”</p><p>              “I know but, I could have kept the evening lighter,” they way he looked at her took her breath, “and we didn’t talk <em>at all </em>about the sex-worker piece.”</p><p>              “Eh, details,” he grinned, those white, slightly imperfect teeth gleamed, “we’ll figure it out.”</p><p>              Betty couldn’t have agreed more, “We will.”      </p><p>             </p><p>              The next morning, Betty posted a picture on her Instagram. A picture of her bare feet pressed to the tops of a pair of much larger, sock-clad feet.</p><p>               She didn’t caption it. She didn’t tag him. But…the edge of his gray beanie was just barely visible behind his heel.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>              @Ashdum35: OMG! The beanie! Is that the beanie? Does anyone else see that? Am I crazy???</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>              @FreeBrit2000: Are they cuddling? OMG! I can’t! My heart. My poor, poor heart!</strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>              @Breezi24: I ship it. If that is indeed @FPenJIII, I totally ship it! </strong>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>              @IvyLeagueLegacy: This is not appropriate behavior. You should not be acting like this. You should NOT be doing these things. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                           @Blade45Running: @IvyLeagueLegacy: Dude, calm down.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                           @cherylbombshell: @IvyLeagueLegacy Stalker much?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                           @AwkwardAnnieLessie: @IvyLeagueLegacy: This got weird. </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, that's it for now! I know it doesn't seem like a lot, but I wanted to establish that Betty is comfortable communicating with Jug and vice versa. We are establishing a rapport...and that they just genuinely want to be in each other's company. I hope that came across! </p><p>And what do you think of the comments?? Any theories on what's happening? </p><p>Please let me know what you thought? Please comment! I crave the feedback! </p><p>Kisses to all! Bye now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five : Damaged</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>We learn a little more about Jug and Betty's friends ... and a certain follower finally catches Betty's attention...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello All!!! I warned you updates might slow down a little but I really am trying! </p>
<p>This is a little bit of a filler chapter, but there is some valuable information revealed here. I don't think it needs a trigger warning, though there is some discussion of toxic relationships. As always, please, please, please let me know what you think!</p>
<p>Chapter Five Song Choice : "Damaged" by Plumb</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Five : </strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Healing comes so painfully</p>
<p>And it chills to the bone</p>
<p>Will anyone get close to me?</p>
<p>I’m damaged, as I’m sure you know</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’m scared and I’m alone</p>
<p>I’m ashamed</p>
<p>And I need for you to know</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say</p>
<p>And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away</p>
<p>Cause I feel you, I feel you near me</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>              After a full ten minutes of rifling through his pockets, digging through his ever-present messenger bag, and then patting down his pockets <em>one more time</em>, Jughead emptied the air from his lungs, conceded defeat, and began his all-too-familiar walk of shame. He stopped first at the little artisanal coffee shop that was located one block from his apartment building. It was one of his favorite spots. The scent of dark roast coffee grinds, fruity baked pastry, and pretension hung thick in the air every visit. He always felt right at home.</p>
<p>              He ordered himself a large black americano to go and a shot of espresso for there (he felt he might need a little extra kick of liquid bravado for the morning) and a medium non-fat soy latte with two pumps of vanilla. When the blue-haired hipster barista behind the counter quirked a single, questioning, pierced eyebrow at him, Jughead had simply shrugged and said, “I know.”</p>
<p>              With his offerings in hand, Jug ventured on down an additional three blocks toward his destination. When he entered the decorous marble lobby of the luxury apartment building, the doorman greeted him with a familiar tip of his ancient chin. Jughead climbed aboard the elevator and rode it to the seventeenth floor as he had done so many times before. As out of place as he had felt in the building at the beginning, with it’s expensive red and gold carpets and mirrored elevator walls, the place had actually become kind of a second home to him over the years. He was as relaxed in the fancy skyscraper as he was in his own eight story walk-up, as familiar with its layout and design as he was the inner workings of his own mind. The occupant of the apartment he made his way to had made damn sure that he’d always felt welcomed there.  </p>
<p>              It took her a moment to answer the door (it always did) but he held up the bougie concoction that she considered coffee as soon as the door swung inward. Her dark eyes sparkled with immediate mirth, she took the proffered drink, sipped from it, hummed her approval, the fixed those brilliant eyes and bright smile on him.</p>
<p>              “You locked yourself out again, didn’t you?” Veronica chimed and brought her gift to her lips once more.</p>
<p>              Jughead leaned against the doorframe with a smirk, “You know me so well.”</p>
<p>              “I mean, it’s true,” Veronica agreed, spun on the ridiculously thin, ridiculously tall heel of her shoe, and teetered back into the apartment. She left the door open for him. “I’m actually very glad you’re here!”</p>
<p>              “Oh, yeah?” he called in her wake.</p>
<p>              Just then, the sound of a toilet flush rang through the apartment and from the bathroom emerged a figure that Jughead was all too familiar with. Six foot four, dark hair, an ill-advised snake tattoo on his neck that Jughead had begged him not to get when they were both fifteen years old and stupid but the taller boy had insisted would look “badass as hell!”</p>
<p>              “Sweet Pea, what the fuck?” Jughead exclaimed and his eyes darted to the door to Ronnie’s bedroom that she had disappeared through a moment earlier, “not again.”</p>
<p>              There had been more than one occasion after Jughead had introduced his dearest friend to his dearest childhood friend in which the two had let their physical attraction override their common sense and they had tried to date. It had never ended well for either party. Not one time. They both had extremely volatile personalities that tended to erupt when within close proximity to one another. It had made Jughead uncomfortable the first time that they had tried. It had made him uncomfortable the sixth time that they had tried. He just never saw anything good that could come from the two of them together for prolonged periods of time.</p>
<p>              “Oh, calm down,” Veronica said with a roll of her eyes as she reappeared from within the confines of her bedroom, “he just came by to hang a shelf for me.”    </p>
<p>              Jughead narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It was never that simple. “Why wouldn’t you just call me?”</p>
<p>              “I thought you might be otherwise occupied.”</p>
<p>              “What would I be – ”</p>
<p>              She held up her phone in front of his face, “Care to explain <em>this, </em>Torombolo?”</p>
<p>              Jughead wiped his face of all expression, “Looks like a picture of feet. What of it?”</p>
<p>              Veronica lowered the hand that held the phone and used the other to smack him, not gently, in the bicep, “Don’t give me that! Those are <em>your </em>feet, Jug! And <em>that </em> is minicoop19! Explain. Now.”</p>
<p>              “We hung out.”</p>
<p>              “You snuggled,” Sweet Pea interjected unhelpfully.</p>
<p>              “Thank you, Sweet Pea,” Veronica chirped, “See, Jughead, there is a new female in your life with whom you are snuggling,” she hit him in the arm again, “and I don’t” and again, “know” again, “about it!” And again, again, again.</p>
<p>              “Jesus Christ, Ronnie,” Jughead exclaimed, “stop hitting me!”</p>
<p>              “No!” She chimed and then hit him one more time for good measure, “I don’t like you keeping things from me!”</p>
<p>              “How am I keeping things from you?”</p>
<p>              “You didn’t tell me you were going to her <em>house</em>!”</p>
<p>              “It was a spur of the moment thing that happened <em>last night</em>, Veronica. When was I supposed to have told you between then and now?”</p>
<p>              Sweet Pea shook his head emphatically, “Man, don’t try to use logic when she gets like this.”</p>
<p>              “Excuse me?” Veronica seethed, turned to his direction.</p>
<p>              “Note the crazy eyes,” Sweet Pea pointed in the general direction of Veronica’s face, “When you see the crazy eyes, back away slowly with no sudden movements and agree with everything that she says.”</p>
<p>              Veronica snatched up a little round knick-knack from a nearby table that served no purpose aside from decoration and hurled it at Sweet Pea’s head. He caught without so much as a flinch. This was a familiar song and dance from the two of them. The, the two just stood and glared at each other, Veronica with her hands perched on her hips and eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, Sweet Pea with a half smirk on his mouth and a defiant, arrogant tilt to his chin. Jughead suddenly felt more than a little queasy at the tension in the room.</p>
<p>              “Oh, God,” he groaned, “is this foreplay? Please tell me if this is foreplay so I can leave.”</p>
<p>              “As it,” Ronnie snorted.</p>
<p>              To which Sweet Pea countered, “You wish.”</p>
<p>              “I will step on your throat with me Jimmy Choo.”</p>
<p>              “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”</p>
<p>              Followed by more heated staring. Sweet Pea’s nostrils flared like an animal scenting the air. Veronica’s breathing increased as though she were preparing to attack…or at least pounce.</p>
<p>              Jughead looked back and forth between his two friends, “Ooookay, now you’re both just being creepy. Ron, can I have my key so I can go?”</p>
<p>              His words seemed to snap Veronica out of her Sweet Pea induced daze and with a few rapid blinks, she dragged her gaze away from Sweet Pea to Jughead. “Of course, not,” she said, “You’d never bring it back. I’ll walk over with you and you can tell me all about your ‘spur of the moment hangout slash cuddle fest’ with the gorgeous blonde.” She grabbed her purse and the latte Jughead had brought her, “You can let yourself out, Sweet Pea. Lock up behind you.”</p>
<p>              With that, she ushered Jughead from the apartment and shut the door before Sweet Pea could protest. Jughead could feel the tension that radiated from her body in waves. She always got this way when Sweet Pea was around. She was already slight high-strung by nature, or nurture if you met her father a realized the kind of nightmare that he was. Jughead didn’t philosophize on it. Veronica tended toward the anxious and Jughead had always tried to help alleviate it whenever he could. He waited until they were in the elevator before he spoke.</p>
<p>              “What are you doing, Ronnie?” he asked.</p>
<p>              She opened her mouth to respond and Jughead, who knew his friend all too well, cut her off before she could.</p>
<p>              “Before you say I’m playing favorites, Sweet Pea will be getting this same lecture later on today. So, I repeat, what are you doing, Ron?”</p>
<p>              “I don’t really know how to explain it, Jug,” Veronica said after a thoughtful moment, “We don’t work as a couple. We are both very aware of that fact. But – there’s – a pull. There’s – chemistry. When we get near each other we just – ”</p>
<p>              Jughead put his arm over her shoulders, dragged her into his side, and pressed a kiss into her hair. “You know,” he said without pulling away, “I’d be all for you and Pea if it made you happy.”</p>
<p>              Veronica sighed, “I know that.:</p>
<p>              “And the favorite thing is bullshit. You’re totally my favorite.”</p>
<p>              She chuckled and nuzzled in under his chin, “I know that, too.”              </p>
<p>              The elevator opened with a <em>ding </em>and only then did the two friends break from their embrace to step through its doors into the lobby. Veronica smoothed a hand down the material of her skirt, sipped delicately from her latte, and cleared her throat, “So, don’t think that you’re getting out of our earlier topic, Jug. Tell me about you and the steadily growing in intrigue Betty Cooper.”</p>
<p>              “I mean, what do you want me to say?” Jughead tried to vocalize what he still didn’t fully understand himself. He’d kind of stumbled blindly into whatever this thing with Betty was and was just trying to figure it out as they went. He didn’t know how to explain it to Veronica, even if he wanted to. “We hung out for a while at her place. Had dinner. Watched a documentary. She’s – amazing. I want to get to know her.”</p>
<p>              “That’ll do for now,” Veronica said with an understanding smile, “What documentary?”</p>
<p>              “Nightstalker.”</p>
<p>              “Haven’t you seen that already?”</p>
<p>              “So had she.”</p>
<p>              “Oh, God, she’s made for you.”</p>
<p>              He grinned at that, “I like her, Ronnie. I don’t know that I’ve ever like anybody like this. But that’s dumb, right? I mean, I barely know her.”</p>
<p>              Veronica shrugged as the doorman jumped to open the door for them. “Thanks, Smithers,” she smiled as they walked through, “I don’t think feelings are ever dumb or smart. They’re just feelings. You can’t really control them. You can delude yourself into believing you can control them. You can try to change them by working on your mindset and how you view things from an intellectual standpoint. But in the end, how you feel is how you feel.”</p>
<p>              Jughead quirked a little half smile in her direction, “Wow. Thanks, Dr. Phil.”</p>
<p>              “Dr. Phil is a pompous asshat.”</p>
<p>              “Still, that was very sage and wise.”</p>
<p>              “Yes, my therapist is very proud.”</p>
<p>             </p>
<p>              Across town in Betty’s apartment, the morning had been spent in a cloud of euphoria and frenetic energy that Betty didn’t quite know what to do with. So – she baked a pan of blueberry muffins from scratch, followed by a loaf of banana nut bread, and then whipped up a starter for some homemade sourdough.</p>
<p>              Then, she cleaned.</p>
<p>              She cleaned her already clean apartment. She just felt ridiculously energized. Jughead had stayed at her apartment until the wee hours of the morning. They’d cuddled on her sofa, watched tv, and talked and laughed. He’d draped an arm around her and she rested her feet across his legs. Even the memory of his welcoming body heat was enough to make her feel flushed and nervous and excited. Something was happening between them. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but she liked it very much. It made her feel bubbly and hot all over and energized.</p>
<p>              Energized so much so that she cleaned her apartment.</p>
<p>              She had been at it for approximately two hours when Kevin showed up at her door.</p>
<p>              He breezed in without knocking, handed Betty an iced coffee with almond milk, snagged a still-warm muffin, and sank into the cushions of her sofa…the sofa on which she had cuddled with Jughead just a few hours ago.</p>
<p>              Kevin, always to be relied upon, didn’t waste any time on pleasantries of trite greetings, “I was very excited by your Instagram post this morning. I spat latte all over Moose. He was not happy.”</p>
<p>              “Moose?” Betty questioned and sat down beside him, “I thought you were done with that.”</p>
<p>              “Maybe less done than I let on.”</p>
<p>              “But he’s using you.”</p>
<p>              “Well, maybe I’m using him, too!”</p>
<p>              Betty said nothing. Just stared him down with her patented ‘Betty Stare.’</p>
<p>              “I didn’t come here to talk about me,” Kevin said.</p>
<p>              Again, Betty stared.</p>
<p>              Kevin could never hold out to her ‘Betty State.’ He caved pretty quickly.</p>
<p>              “Fine!” he sighed, tipped to the side, kicked his feet up over the arm of the couch, and rested his head in her lap, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”</p>
<p>              “Nothing’s <em>wrong </em>with you, Kev,” Betty said and ran a hand over his perfectly styled and gelled into place hair. When he didn’t chide her for mussing it, she knew that the situation was bad, “I hate that he keeps twisting you up into knots like this.”</p>
<p>              “That I let him twist me into knots, you mean,” he retorted.</p>
<p>              Betty bopped him on the head, “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”</p>
<p>              It was true. She hadn’t meant that. Though she openly admitted that she wished Kevin could shake himself free of the strange pull that Moose Mason seemed to have over him. They’d been – <em>involved </em>– for a number of years, though Moose was very much engaged to a lovely young woman named Midge Klump. The oaf had a beautiful, sweet, generous fiancé, but he refused to let Kevin go. Anytime Kevin would start to pull away, start to move on, start to show some kind of sign of being able to be happy without Moose in his life, Moose would do something drastic to drag him back into his orbit.</p>
<p>              The really shitty part was that it was always Moose who broke it off eventually.</p>
<p>              The previous year, Moose had walked away from Kevin <em>again. </em>He’d said he needed to really commit himself to Midge if they were going to make their marriage work. Kevin had been heartbroken. He’d spiraled into depression, drank every night, and trolled bars for hookups with random guys in attempt to bury his pain. It was a dangerous coping mechanism that Betty was powerless to do anything about other than express her concern and promise to always be there when he needed her. After two months, he’d started to be his old, cheerful, charming self again. He’d met an adorable graphic designer named Michael who had wanted to be more than a one-night stand.</p>
<p>              As though he had a fucking radar, Moose had seen them at dinner one night.</p>
<p>              One week later, Michael was history and Moose was back in Kevin’s bed.</p>
<p>              It happened like that almost every single time.</p>
<p>              “I just,” Betty searched for the words. This was a slippery slope that the two of them had been down before. Kevin could get defensive when it came to Moose. He’d accuse Betty of being judgmental even though he knew she wasn’t He accused her of trespasses in order to avoid taking a closer look at his own insecurities and the toxicity of the Moose relationship (term used extremely loosely.) “I don’t really know what to say anymore about it, Kev. You know how I feel about Moose. I’ve never made it a secret. I care about <em>you</em>. So, I’ll just sit here with you and you can talk or not talk and just be here with me. Whatever you need, I’m here.”</p>
<p>              Kevin didn’t say anything. But he did reach a hand up over his head to squeeze her shoulder in gratitude. So, Betty switched gears.</p>
<p>              “I talked to Archie,” she said.</p>
<p>              “Hmm,” Kevin hummed, “how is the ginger gigolo?”</p>
<p>              “Kevin!”</p>
<p>              “I said what I said.”</p>
<p>              “He’s moving to the city,” Betty went on with a roll of her eyes, “Val dumped him.”</p>
<p>              “Wait,” Kevin did turn his head to look at her after that, “I thought he was with Josie.”</p>
<p>              “He was.”</p>
<p>              “But then – ”</p>
<p>              “Yup.”</p>
<p>              “Oh, Archie.”</p>
<p>              “I know.”</p>
<p>              “You know, my sweet Betty-Boop, we are a truly fucked up group of individuals,” Kevin sighed.</p>
<p>              Betty laughed, “I prefer to think of us as interesting.”</p>
<p>              Kevin snorted, “More like a Ripley’s sideshow. Anyway! No more changing the subject. Tell me about the footsie picture. Was it Jughead? Did he come over? Did you touch his hair? Did you touch <em>more</em> than his hair? Oh! And did you see the one psycho comment?”</p>
<p>              Betty frown at that, “What psycho?”</p>
<p>              “Oh, my God, Betty,” Kevin said and immediately opened the app on his phone and started scrolling, “Even Cheryl commented on this guy he is so cuckoo banana nut man!”</p>
<p>              He found what he wanted and handed his phone over to her, the of his index finger indicated a comment by one of her followers; an @IvyLeagueLegacy. Betty read the message and tried to dismiss it from her brain – despite the somewhat knotted feeling that the words had caused to tangle in her stomach.</p>
<p>              “I mean,” she started, “everyone’s entitled to their opinion. I don’t think I did anything inappropriate with Jughead and this seems like – an extreme reaction to a rather tame picture but what am I supposed to do about it?”</p>
<p>              Kevin snatched his phone back, “That’s not even the half of it though! This guy, I looked back, and he’s commented on every single post that you’ve made for over a year now – and they’re all borderline creepy AF.”</p>
<p>              He scrolled and seemed to choose a picture at random, then scrolled through the comments until he landed on what he was searching for. The picture had been taken a few months prior by Kevin himself. They had been at a street fair and shared a funnel cake. In the picture, she was laughing with her head tossed back, powered sugar coated her nose and fingers. She was an utter mess but she and Kevin had thought it was a super cute moment. She captioned it with a flower and heart emoji. Kevin directed her attention to the comment that he had sought out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              @IvyLeagueLegacy: The purest thing in my life. I bet you taste as sweet as that sugar. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Okay, that was creepy. But again, Betty tried to dismiss it. Yes, it was an extremely uncomfortable comment to read about herself from a stranger but part of the reason that she avoided the comment section of her social media was because a lot of people had no boundaries when they were behind the safety of a screen.</p>
<p>              “This isn’t that – ”</p>
<p>              Before she could even finish her thought, Kevin was scrolling again.</p>
<p>              This time the photo was from even further back than the street fair one. It was a mirror selfie that she had taken of herself. She was in full burlesque makeup, holding her hair up atop her head, away from her neck to show off a pair of sparkly, dangly earrings. They were fake of course, but she had thought them very pretty.</p>
<p>              She’d captioned the picture:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              What do you all think of my new costume jewelry? #blingbling #burlesquelife</strong>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>The comment that Kevin had singled out was even more disquieting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>              @IvyLeagueLegacy: When you’re mine, your diamonds will be real and you will no longer debase yourself in front of crowds. Beautiful as ever, my angel. </strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>              Betty couldn’t deny the creep factor any longer after that one. The whole “when you’re mine” thing caused a squirmy itchy feeling to radiate all through her body, like tiny bugs crawling beneath her skin. He hadn’t said “if you were mine,” which would have been horrifying enough, but he’d said “when.” <em>When</em>. Like it was a given that she would be.</p>
<p>              “Well, I don’t like that,” she said and pushed up from the couch to pace.</p>
<p>              “Right!” Kevin exclaimed as he stood as well, “I feel like <em>when </em>you’re his, you’ll end up in a cage with a collar and a chain. That’s fine for some people but it should really be consensual.”</p>
<p>              Betty’s mind whirled. This was why she didn’t read her damn comments!</p>
<p>              But maybe it was also an example as to why she should.</p>
<p>              “So,” she said and pushed her hands into the hair at her temples, “What should I even do? Should I – should I block him? Is that too aggressive?”</p>
<p>              “You think blocking <em>him </em>would be aggressive?”</p>
<p>              “Well, I don’t know, Kev! I’ve never been in this situation before!” Betty retorted, “Is this something to…I don’t, do we go to someone? Like the police? Do they even handle this kind of thing?”</p>
<p>              “I could call my dad,” Kevin conceded, “He could probably give us some advice.”</p>
<p>              Betty nodded, crossed her arms over her body as she suddenly felt very exposed and vulnerable, “Yeah, yeah, do that. Let’s see what he says.”</p>
<p>              “Okay,” Kevin smiled, “Stop thinking about the creepy, terrifying crazy that wants to take you home to meet ma and tell me about the sexy, broody, hipster that just wants to get in your pants!”</p>
<p>              Adequately distracted, Betty let out a cackle and had just opened her mouth to reply when her phone rang and the man in question’s name flashed over the screen.</p>
<p>              “Oh my God,” Kevin gasped and collapsed back down onto the sofa, “Is he <em>calling </em>you? That’s adorable! He knows how to text right? What century is he from?”</p>
<p>              “Shush,” Betty hissed and answered the phone, “Hey, Juggie!”</p>
<p>              “Juggie!” Kevin clutched a hand over his heart, “Oh! Oh, it’s too precious for this world!”</p>
<p>              Betty grabbed a couch cushion and whacked him in the head with it.</p>
<p>              “Hey, Coop,” Jughead’s far, far too appealing voice buzzed across the line and seemed to roll over her skin in a caressing wave, “I was thinking about how to start our collaborative piece.”</p>
<p>              “Yeah?”</p>
<p>              “Yeah,” she could hear the smile in his voice and it made her feel warm and gooey in all the right places, “I think we should start with a little pre-interview.”</p>
<p>              “Okay…”</p>
<p>              “With you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, that's it for now!! So, should Betty block IvyLeagueLegacy?? Who thinks that's a good idea? Do you think they would react badly to that? Who wanders if they know her real identity? How do you think Jug will react when he finds out about IvyLeague?? Give me your thoughts! Give me your theories!! I crave them all!</p>
<p>Feedback is dearer to me than oxygen. Please don't deprive me. Leave a comment. Drop a kudos. I welcome them all!</p>
<p>Kisses to all! Bye, now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six: Hallelujah</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The pre-interview... and things...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, here is the next installment! This one got away from me a little bit, but I had fun writing it. </p><p>As always, the opinions and ideas depicted by the characters do not necessarily coincide with my own. They are merely the result of the research that I have done in order to be more knowledgeable on the subject that I am writing about. Please, feel free to express your own opinions, but I beg, do not attack myself nor anyone else in the comments section. I look forward to hearing any thoughts on the matter, though!</p><p>As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and I live for your comments!</p><p>Treat Alert: LOTS of BUGHEAD in this chapter!</p><p>Chapter Six Song Choice : "Hallelujah" by Panic at the Disco</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Six : Hallelujah</p><p> </p><p>My life started the day I got caught</p><p>Under the covers</p><p>With secondhand lovers</p><p>Oh, tied up in pretty young things</p><p>In a state of emergency</p><p>Who was I trying to be</p><p> </p><p>Then the time for being sad is over</p><p>And you miss them like you miss no other</p><p>And being blue is better than being over it</p><p>(Over it)</p><p> </p><p>All you sinners stand up, sing hallelujah</p><p>(Hallelujah!)</p><p>Show praise with you body</p><p>Stand up, sing hallelujah (hallelujah!)</p><p>And if you can’t stop shaking, lean back</p><p>Let it move right through ya (hallelujah!)</p><p>Say your prayers</p><p>Say your prayers</p><p>Say your prayers</p><p> </p><p>              It had been a week since Betty had agreed to do the pre-interview with him. They’d settled on the first day that they were both free. It had been both the longest and the shortest week of Jughead’s twenty-three years. He scampered around his apartment, checked his setup for what had to be the five-hundred and sixty-seventh time that day. He’d gone out earlier and bought a bottle of wine, then second guessed himself, decided that it might look like he was trying too hard and tucked the red out of sight in the back of the fridge. He just wanted Betty to be comfortable in his <strike>home bed life </strike><em>interview</em>!</p><p>              It was official.</p><p>              He was creepy. He was a creep.</p><p>              He may as well drag her through his door and on a maniacal cackle, welcome her into his <em>lair. </em></p><p>              God, what the actual fuck was wrong with him?</p><p>              He was generally a pretty tidy guy, but as a personal rule, he didn’t give two figs about what anyone thought of his apartment. It was <em>his </em>home. He was the one who had to live there, his opinion was the only one that should matter on the topic – and yet that morning when he’d woken, he’d taken just a few quick moments to make sure that any used towels and yesterday’s boxer shorts were in the clothes hamper and all of the dishes were cleaned and on the drying rack.</p><p>              He called himself ten kinds of pathetic and then checked his microphone connection again.</p><p>              When Betty finally arrived at his door, he was wound up so tight, the light rapping of her knock damn near sent him into the ceiling.</p><p>             </p><p>              There was something unspeakably endearing about Jughead’s skittishness when he opened the door of his home to her. His pretty eyes were wide, wild, and a little feral – as though he feared that he’d blink and she’d take off. He really didn’t need to be afraid of that. He never needed to be afraid of that. She’d stay as long as he’d let her.</p><p>              She crossed the threshold into his apartment, the place he’d made his home, and didn’t even make an attempt to hide her nosiness. She dropped her bag on the flood by the door, shrugged out of her coat, and headed into the small but very cozy living room. His furniture had been chosen for comfort over style. The sofa was a cracked brown leather, but it was soft to the touch and well broken in, the wooden coffee table was scarred and worn. There was a bookshelf that ran along the entirety of the far wall, it sagged under the weight of the books that covered an array of topics and subject matter. It was the same bookcase that Betty had seen in the bulk of Jughead’s videos. It served as his background when he spoke to the camera. The thing that struck Betty as the oddest, however, was that despite the cozy, homey feel of the place, she only spotted one, lonely, solitary picture. It was a young boy, obviously Jughead judging from the familiar grey wool beanie on his head, with his arms around an even younger girl. They both flashed toothy grins at the camera. Must be the younger sister he’d mentioned once or twice in the conversations, always with apparent affection and adoration. She was the most important person in his life. Betty walked along the bookshelf, traced her fingers along the bowed ledges. Over her shoulder, she could see Jughead where he still stood by the door; like he’d been frozen in place.</p><p>              He was such a contradiction. Somehow, he managed to be both arrogant but then self-conscious; cocky and yet self-deprecating; Outgoing and still painfully bashful. Every layer of himself that he revealed only made her want to pull back more. He was an enigma cloaked in temptation and wrapped in mystery. She couldn’t get enough of him.</p><p>              The entire week since he’d called and arranged their – she chose to think of it as – rendezvous, she’d gone back and forth in her mind on the subject of the disturbing messages that Kevin had found on her posts. She wondered if she should mention them to Jughead. He had been dealing with the whole social-media-influencer thing a lot longer than she had and he might have some really helpful insights. Kevin’s dad hadn’t really been able to give her much help. There wasn’t a whole lot that the police could do with what she had at present so going to them wouldn’t necessarily be helpful. She always had the option to block the follower, but she didn’t know if that would help or harm the situation. Jug might be able to offer her some solid advice with how to handle the problem.</p><p>              But, was it really something that he’d want her to drag him into?</p><p>              Sure, they were friends, but did that mean he would want to listen to her rattle off about her problems with a follower sending her weird and borderline sketchy messages? Were they there, yet? She just didn’t know.</p><p>              So, she’d managed to push it to the back of her mind. She’d focused on their upcoming joint project and decided to say the Ivy League asshole (as she and Kevin had taken to calling said follower) for another day; a different conversation.  </p><p>              In the present, in Jughead’s cozy little apartment, she looked back at him through her lowered lashes, “So…Juggie, tell me what you’re hoping to accomplish with this interview. Our conversations about it have been rather vague to say the least. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that every time I brought it up, you were being purposely evasive.”</p><p>              He finally closed the door and stepped toward her, shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, “I wasn’t trying to be evasive, I promise. I just – it’s another on of those scenarios that I felt might be better discussed in person.”</p><p>              “Like when you invited me to a porn con?”</p><p>              Jughead nodded, pressed his lips tight together, “You’re never gonna let me forget that, are you?”</p><p>              “Nope,” Betty said and made sure to pop the ‘P’ at the end of the word. She grinned and flung herself onto his couch with abandon, slipped her boots off, and kicked her sock-clad feet up on the coffee table, “So, tell me what we’re talking about!”</p><p>              Jughead stared back at her, his hesitancy sketched across every one of his perfect features. He was clearly very nervous about whatever exactly it was that he had planned for this interview and, to be honest, Betty thought it was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen in her life.</p><p>              “C’mon, Juggie,” she teased with a grin and patted the cushion beside her, “tell me what’s on your mind.”</p><p>              Jughead took a deep breath and eased down to a seat at her side, “Okay – let me start by asking – is there anything that I can ask that will offend you?”</p><p>              Betty’s first instinct was one of appeasement. It was the people pleasing aspect of her personality that wasn’t necessarily ‘natural’ as it was something that had been carved irrevocably into her from the moment of her birth. The Coopers were inherently an accommodating clan. So, the first thing to come into Betty’s mind was the desire to say “Of course, not!” however, she was able in the moment to check herself. Because there were definitely things that he could say that most likely could offend her, even if deep down she knew that nothing he said would ever come from a malicious place. He had unconscious bias and prejudices just like everyone else on the planet, including herself, but the point was that he had enough respect for her to ask before they got started. So, she owed him the respect and consideration of honesty.</p><p>              And as such, she gave him an honest answer to his inquiry.</p><p>              “I mean, I’m sure there is,” she said candidly.</p><p>              He nodded as though her answer was expected, “Okay, then before we start recording, I want to give you some preparation. What I want to talk about in this interview is the aspect of your job in burlesque that is linked to sex work; the stigmas, the uninvited expectations, and the varied perceptions of friends and family versus strangers. I – might ask a couple of things that would make you – or anyone really – uncomfortable – ”</p><p>              Betty watched as the bright red flush that started at the base of his neck worked its way up to his jaw and all the way to the tips of his ears. It was obvious that he was embarrassed and that he was the one who was ‘uncomfortable’ and, perceptive as she was, Betty was able to glean an idea of what it was that was planning to ask her.</p><p>              “Jug,” she said, her voice gentle and she reached out a put her hand on his denim-clad knee, “are you planning to ask me if I’ve ever exchanged sex for money?”</p><p>              “I mean – I don’t – if that’s – it’s just that – I need – I just – ” he sputtered and turned even redder.</p><p>              Betty grinned. This was a Jughead that was unknown to most of the world. In his videos, he was all scathing cynicism with a razor-sharp wit and venom laced tongue. But as Betty had gotten to know him, as he’d allowed her into his world, she’d discovered the secret that he kept exceptionally close to the vest – inside, Jughead Jones was a marshmallow. He was sweet and kind and generous and – honestly – almost too precious for this world.</p><p>              “Okay, Juggie,” she said, “let’s start filming.”</p><p>              “Are you sure?” he asked.</p><p>              Betty squeezed his knee. They hadn’t really crossed that line over into any kind of physical intimacy and touching him felt – nice. It felt right. She wanted to do more of it. “Of course,” she finally said, “I never do anything unless I’m sure.”</p><p>              The sentence had a double meaning, but she could tell from the way his shoulders relaxed a bit that he hadn’t caught it. If he had, she a feeling that the tension between them would have ratcheted right up instead of eased off. That was okay, though. She’d make it perfectly clear after they finished their video.</p><p>              “Okay,” he nodded and took her by the hand, which was nice also, and led her over to his littler corner where he’d set up his lights, camera, and two chairs.</p><p>              Betty sat down, adjusted until she was comfortable and then watched in admiration as Jughead slipped into that jaded, hard-ass persona that was known to the rest of the world. The transition seemed as natural to him as breathing and Betty found herself wondering, not for the first time, if this other version of himself, this second skin, was even more comfortable for him that the tender, self-conscious soul that he showed only a select few.</p><p>              “Ready?” he asked her.</p><p>              Betty nodded and Jughead reached over and hit ‘record.’</p><p>              “Hello to all out there in the world,” he started in that dry, sardonic tone of voice that made her feel just a little weak in the knees, “so, as some of you have probably guessed from the little breadcrumbs on Instagram, not mine, I don’t do that shit, but I love a good game of ‘Clue’ as much as the next guy, but on the feed of my lovely guest here, minicoop19. How’s it goin’, Coop?”</p><p>              “Goin’ fine, Pen, how’re you?” Betty smiled for him; for the camera.</p><p>              “Can’t complain,” he said, then, “Well, I mean, I could. I do. Often. But not this video! No, no, no. This video is gonna be…intense. So, we are filming this portion of the video about a week and half from the NYC Triple X Con that Coop here has graciously agreed to accompany me to. I know, it was an awkward conversation for both of us. The point of it all is this notion that society as whole has of sex workers as a whole. There are so many different jobs that can be categorized as a type of sex work and it never ceases to amaze me the type of stigma and preconceived prejudice that seems to come as part and parcel with the title. So, Coop,” he turned to face more toward Betty, “you are very open on your channel about your gig as a burlesque dancer.”</p><p>              “I am.”</p><p>              “That is one of the off-shoots of sex work.”</p><p>              “So, you’ve said.”</p><p>              “Wow.”</p><p>              “I kid, I kid,” Betty laughed, “Yes. Burlesque is technically a subcategory of sex work. It involves the removal of clothing for an audience and is therefore a form of exhibitionism.”</p><p>              “Stripping?”</p><p>              “No.”</p><p>              Jughead grinned from ear to ear, “Okay, explain the difference for those playing the home game.”</p><p>              Betty angled her knees more toward his body, touched them to his. “Stripping is all about the removal of the clothes. The goal is to get naked, sell the fantasy, leave nothing to the imagination, and encourage the audience to fork over cash to attention. It can be beautiful and athletic and those men and women are artists in their own right. It can also be seedy and depressing. Stripping can vary from venue to venue. They make the bulk of their money off of tips and a good stripper can make damn good money.” Betty explained, “A burlesque dancer is about story telling. It’s as much about what you don’t show as what you do. My costumes are just as important when I perform as my body. Compensation is different as well. Occasionally, a burlesque dancer will do a gig that involves tips, but most of the time it’s for a predetermined amount, either a flat fee or a percentage of the door. Stripping is all about audience fantasy fulfillment whereas, when not a tip incentivized job, a burlesque dancer can do entire shows without engaging one on one with the audience at all. It’s the story that matters.”</p><p>              “Alright,” Jughead said, “so that said, it still holds the stripper connotation for a lot of people.”</p><p>              “Yes, if they aren’t familiar with the art.”</p><p>              “Does your family know that you dance?”</p><p>              Betty laughed, “Yes, actually. My mom asks me at least once a month if I’m still ‘getting naked for complete strangers.’ I just laugh and say, yes, mom. She then murmurs about what I was doing with the expensive ballet lessons that she paid for when I was in school.”</p><p>              “But she’s not upset by it?”</p><p>              “Not upset, per se. She doesn’t agree with it, but she knows that I’m not doing anything inappropriate. Not really.”</p><p>              “Same with friends?”</p><p>              Betty nodded, “I have a very dear make friend who came to see me dance and spent the entire time I was on stage staring at his beer. He told me I was fantastic but I swear he didn’t see more than a single high-kick before he felt the need to avert his eyes.”</p><p>              Jughead nodded, reached over and picked up a small moleskin notebook from his desktop and flipped it open. He cleared his throat, didn’t meet her eyes. “Tell me about the audiences at your shows. Are they – respectful?”</p><p>              Betty’s mind immediately flashed to thoughts of IvyLeagueLegacy and felt she needed to be a little vague with this topic. She didn’t know if he had been to any of her shows, but it wasn’t outside of the realm of possibility. She answered, “Sometimes.”</p><p>              Jughead’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. They were dilated the way they she’d seen when he was locked in on some detail, “Elaborate.”</p><p>              She knew where he was going. He’d warned her. He’d been upfront about it so she wasn’t going to try to be evasive. “Occasionally, there’s someone out there that thinks just because you take your clothes off for money, it means that you’re willing to do other things for money as well.”</p><p>              “You’ve been propositioned for sex.” He didn’t ask her. He made the statement.</p><p>              “Yes,” Betty nodded, “Not as often as you might think, but it has happened before.”</p><p>              Jughead licked his lips, looked down at his moleskin, tapped the tip of his pen to edge of the little notebook. He was searching for the words.</p><p>              “I’ve never said yes,” Betty offered so he didn’t have to choose any, but she felt the somewhat familiar adrenaline of anger stir in her veins. It wasn’t at Jughead, though. No. It was for IvyLeagueLegacy and others of that cut. It was for every man (and occasional woman) who’d groped her inappropriately at a show. It was for every lewd suggestion to make it ‘worth her while.’ She looked Jughead in his eyes, “I’ve never done anything that I’m ashamed of.”</p><p> </p><p>              Since the moment he’d clicked the link to her damn video, Betty Cooper continued again and again to amaze him to the point of speechlessness. She knew the approach he was going to take in this interview, he’d made sure of it, and she walked into it with her eyes open and without fear. She offered that little piece of herself not only to him, but to their followers that would inevitably watch this video. He’d never know that kind of vulnerability wrapped in strength. She was everything.</p><p>              “So,” he said, “you never said yes to a proposition. Is that a moral decision?”</p><p>              “Not really.”</p><p>              Jughead choked on his breath. That had not been the response he’d expected. “Really?”</p><p>              “Well, I mean, it’s definitely a moral gray area, don’t you think? Do I condone the exchange of money for sex, not necessarily, but do I condemn it? Again, no, not necessarily.</p><p>              My opinion is that the current status of the legality on the exchange of finds for sexual acts creates an unsafe environment and a risk factor that can’t be overlooked. Because of the nature of their work, this specific category of sex worker has less accessibility to healthcare, are less likely to report an assault of rights violation, etcetera. Why should they be subjected to abuse, be denied their basic human rights for no other reason than how they make a living?</p><p>              Could you make the argument that how they make a living is illegal? Yes. But you could say the same is true for drug smugglers and arms dealers, couldn’t you?”</p><p>              Jughead smiled, “You’re equating sex with automatic weapons? What kind of sex are you having?”</p><p>              “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she retorted with a quirked brow and flirty smile.</p><p>              Jughead stared into her eyes for a long enough moment that he knew he’d have to edit the video, because he was pretty sure that their blatant eye-fucking and his hormone addled libido would be evident to the visually impaired. Did he want to rip her pretty pink sweater off with his teeth? Yes. Was now the time to do that? Not so much.</p><p>              Betty shook it off and continued, “Anyway… the commodity of sex and the commodity of dangerous weapons are vastly different things, but the fact that they are so different really only strengthens my point. In the case of drugs, with the exception of marijuana, the product itself is dangerous, deadly even. Same with guns. <em>Sex </em>when its safe and consensual, who is it hurting?”</p><p>              “Valid point.”</p><p>              “Why can’t sex work be legitimized? Why can’t a person be licensed, clients screened and vetted through reputable sources, STD testing made mandatory? If you erase criminal aspect of it and treat it the same way you would – a masseuse, where is the harm in that?”</p><p>              “Sounds expensive.”</p><p>              “Sounds lucrative, you mean.”</p><p>              “Probably. But, you’d still have people who would ignore the regulations and sell it on the street – ”</p><p>              “But that’s true of anything! We can walk that way,” she pointed over her shoulder to the door, “six blocks and get a knock-off Louis Viutton handbag at a fraction of the cost of the real thing, and that would be illegal. <em>But </em>there are no laws against the legitimate designer handbags themselves.”</p><p>              “But there <em>are </em>laws against sex for money in the present.”</p><p>              Betty tilted her head from side to side, “Well, yes and no.”</p><p>              Jughead cocked his head to the side, furrowed his brows, “Continue.”</p><p>              “We’re about to go to a convention for x-rated films and products, yes?”</p><p>              “Uh-huh.”</p><p>              “There are going to be adult film stars present?”</p><p>              “Yes.”</p><p>              “People who are <em>paid </em>to have sex?”</p><p>              “Ah.”</p><p>              “What is the difference?” Betty demanded, her voice impassioned, “<em>Thor </em>gets paid to have sex with <em>Venus. </em>Venus gets paid to have sex with Thor. It’s filmed and released to the public for millions of dollars in profit. But John Doe pays Jane Doe for a blowjob and <em>she </em>gets arrested!”</p><p>              Jughead knew that he was staring at her like she hung the moon and he didn’t care. He smiled and breathed, “My God, you’re amazing.”</p><p>              “What?” Betty asked on a laugh.</p><p>              Jughead shook himself out of her reverie. “Okay,” he said, “let me play devil’s advocate for a minute here.”</p><p>              “Please.”</p><p>              “What if I make the argument,” Jughead grinned because he knew he was about to piss her off, “that ‘prostitution’ is a form of patriarchal oppression of women?”</p><p>              Betty actually sat back in her chair, emptied the air from her lungs, ran a hand through her hair, and narrowed those pretty greens at him, “Let’s unpack that sentence, shall we?”</p><p>              Jughead waved a hand to gesture for her to go ahead, completely delighted with her, “By all means.”</p><p>              “First, that statement makes the assumption that all sex workers, I hate the word prostitute, are female. Or are you falling back on the good old gender inequality double standard of ‘it’s okay for a man to do it but not a woman’?”</p><p>              “I acknowledge that there are male and transgender sex workers.”</p><p>              “Excellent!” Betty nodded, “So, you are saying that they, in the same line of work under discussion, are not being oppressed by the patriarchy because they are not female?”</p><p>              Jughead shook his head and spoke his truth, “Honestly, I would guess that males and transgendered people are in even more danger of abuse and rights violations because of ridicule, gender bias, and flat-out bigotry.”</p><p>              Her responding smile was soft, “Again, we agree. Now, to address the statement of patriarchal oppression – isn’t it more subjugating for a male dominated legislature to dictate to me what I can and can’t do with my own body? In fact, aren’t there laws already in place to protect me from that? Why should this scenario be any different as long as I’m clean, safe, and willing to followed a specific set of laid-out, enforceable guidelines?”</p><p>              “But wouldn’t you consider the act itself dehumanizing?”</p><p>              “At present, yes. But only because the power is all one-sided. I’m not saying that we should all just go ‘Hey! No more consequences! Let’s all get naked and make it rain!’ I’m saying it should be a legitimate, closely monitored and heavily regulated industry with reputable representation.”</p><p>              Jughead nodded, leaned forward in his chair, rested his forearms on his thighs, “But don’t you think it would encourage infidelity?”</p><p>              To that, Betty actually rolled her eyes. She fixed him with an ‘are you kidding me’ expression and Jughead had the overwhelming urge to smash his mouth against hers.</p><p>              “If a person is going to be unfaithful, they’re going to be unfaithful whether there’s a transaction involved or not. Maybe this will at least make it more expensive for them.”</p><p>              Jug hit her with what Veronica always told him was his cocky little shit grin, “How about this? It’s a sin!”</p><p>              “Christ, Pen,” Betty grabbed a random paperclip from his desk and threw it at his head, “by that antiquated way of thinking, eating meat on a Friday is a sin! That means that those three cheeseburgers you scarfed down yesterday are gonna send you straight to hell!”</p><p>              “Never said I wasn’t a sinner,” he winked.</p><p>              Betty grinned right back, bit down on her bottom lip, scrunched up her nose adorable and retorted, “Yeah? Promises, promises.”</p><p>Jughead felt more than a little hot under the collar at that. They’d been flirting pretty much since they started communicating, but something about tonight, something in the air, felt different. It felt charged; electric. Like anything could happen. He physically shook himself, reminded himself that he was still filming. “Uh, I might need to edit that part out. Um, okay, I think – I think that’s a good stopping place for tonight.” He flipped off the camera.</p><p>              “Oh!” Betty said, “Okay!”</p><p>              She scanned the room with her gaze for a moment, played with her fingers, as though she wasn’t quite certain as to what to do with herself now that he’d stopped filming. To be honest, Jughead wasn’t entirely sure either. He technically no longer had basis with which to keep her with him… but he wasn’t ready for her to leave quite yet.</p><p>              “So,” she began with an awkward break in her voice, “if we’re done, I guess I should –”</p><p>              “How do you feel about pizza and wine?” Jughead blurted.</p><p>              Her reply was a wide, brilliant, megawatt smile.</p><p> </p><p>              Some unknown number of hours later, the pair lounged sluggishly on Jughead’s comfy couch, their bellies full of pizza, the bottle of wine long since depleted, and Betty’s feet rested in Jughead’s lap.</p><p>              “How can you have never seen <em>The Goonies</em>?” Jug demanded even as he dug the pad of his thumb into the tender arch of her foot.</p><p>              “I don’t know,” Betty said with a shrug and nibbled the end of a breadstick, “I just never got around to it.”</p><p>              “Never got around to it!?” Jug exclaimed, unable to process the words that had just poured from her way too lovely, succulent mouth, “Betty, we’re not talking about taking out the trash or getting the car washed, here! This is a pivotal cinematic piece of art that is quintessential to the development and education of every young person in the history of the world!”</p><p>              Betty used the foot that he wasn’t massaging to trail along his thigh, “Mmm, I love it when you get all melodramatic and borderline hysterical.”</p><p>              “Haha.”</p><p>              “No, no! I mean it! It turns me on. Tell me again how Tarantino is the godfather of modern independent film.”</p><p>              When he spotted the irresistible twinkle in her enchanting green eyes, he couldn’t help himself. He latched onto her ankle and switched from a massage to a relentless tickle at the sole of her foot. She squeaked and tried to jerk away but he held strong, yanked her even closer to him on the couch.</p><p>              “No!” she squealed and batted at him.</p><p>              Her pitiful attempts at self defense only served to make Jughead increased the efforts of his attack. He released his grip on her ankle and caught her by the calf, dug his fingers into that tender spot behind her knee.</p><p>              Betty retaliated. She sat up and went for his ribcage. Jughead relinquished her knee and tried to fend her off but she was in full-on attack mode by that point. Somewhere, in the midst of their tussle, Jughead ended up with a lapful of Betty, her thighs bracketed his hips, their hands tangled and interlocked between them, their faces only millimeters apart. The realization of the intimacy of their position suffused his body with heat and he went instantly hard beneath her. He watched, helpless and horrified as Betty recognized his arousal and he sought the inner strength to apologize profusely for the weakness of his hormone addled body when something amazing happened.</p><p>              Her eyes darkened, her pupils dilated, and she rolled her long, lean torso, pressed the heat of her center into him to create a wonderful and mind-blowing friction.</p><p>              He untangled their hands to grasp her swiveling hips as she continued to rock against him. Her own hands floated up to rest on his shoulders, her breaths came in short, delicious little puffs, her cheeks were flushed the most delightful shade of pink. He wanted to drink her in; breathe her; melt into her.</p><p>              “Jug,” she breathed the word as entreaty, as though she had no choice.</p><p>              To which he could only reply, “Holy fuck.”</p><p>              And then her sweet, warm mouth was against his. Her hands went to his hair where she dragged her nails against his scalp to elicit a pleasure filled moan from deep in his throat and he almost embarrassed himself right then and there against their respective pairs of jeans. Betty seemed more than at home in the role of aggressor as she parted her lips and sucked his tongue into her mouth. He let out another groan against her kiss, slid his hands beneath her sweater to feel the smooth, bare skin of her back.</p><p>              When Betty dropped a hand between their bodies to stroke him through the denim of his jeans, Jughead tore his mouth away on a desperate gasp.</p><p>              “Shit, wait,” he rasped, his voice husky and breathless with arousal, “Betty, wait. Slow down. Stop.”</p><p>              Betty blinked down at him from her perch on his thighs, her eyes heavy-lidded and hazed with lust. It was a good look on her. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight in his entire life.</p><p>              “What’s wrong?” she asked.</p><p>              “Nothing,” he replied immediately, “Oh, God, nothing.”</p><p>              But when she moved to rub him again, he caught her by the wrist and pulled her hand up to rest against his heaving chest.</p><p>              She pouted, “I thought you said nothing was wrong.”</p><p>              “It’s not, I swear,” he reiterated.</p><p>              “But – ?”</p><p>              “<em>But </em>– this is fast, isn’t it? Don’t you think this is fast?”</p><p>              A little crease appeared between her eyebrows and she looked equal parts sad, confused, and embarrassed, “You don’t want me?”</p><p>              “No! I do!” Jughead assured her with enthusiasm, cupped both his hands to her jaw and pressed his forehead to hers, “God, I do. But I don’t want to screw this up. It’s too important. <em>You’re </em>too important.”</p><p>              She leaned back away from him and her sweet smile was slow and languorous and so utterly feminine that every muscle in Jughead’s body tensed with the urge to claim her.</p><p>              But he wouldn’t.</p><p>              Not tonight, anyway.</p><p>              “I don’t wanna mess this up, either,” she whispered, almost as though if she were any louder, she’d break something delicate and fragile. Maybe she was right. She leaned down, pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips, a far cry from the hungry way they’d attempted to devour each other only moments before. Then, she said, “It’s getting late. I guess I should probably go.”</p><p>              Jughead tightened his hold minutely on her face, then let them slide around to the back of her neck, “Or you could stay.”</p><p>              She grinned at him, quirked an eyebrow, every inch of her a seductress.</p><p>              Jughead chuckled, “I’m not sending mixed signals, I swear. I don’t mean to have sex. I just mean to, you know, sleep. Here. With me.”</p><p>              Betty bit down on her bottom lip for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds before she kissed him again, a kiss laced with remnants of their earlier desperation. “Okay,” she said in between lovely, brilliant kisses.</p><p>              After a few more heated minutes of Betty’s tongue in his mouth and her fingers in his hair, Jughead managed to break away again. He took her hand and guided her to the bedroom where he offered her a soft grey tee-shirt and a clean pair of boxers to sleep in. She accepted the tee but handed the shorts back to him.</p><p>              “The shirt will be fine,” she said with a coy little smirk before she disappeared into the bathroom.</p><p>              When the door had shut behind her, Jughead took several deep breaths in attempt to get his racing heart under control. Part of him wanted to dive into bed and hide beneath the covers, the other part of him, the adult part, the part that had had women sleep over before reminded him that that kind of behavior would be rude.</p><p>              The first part argued, not unreasonably, that he had never had a woman like <em>her </em>sleep over before.</p><p>              He shook his unhelpful thoughts away, slipped into a white tank and a pair of red running shorts that he never ran in – and waited.</p><p>             </p><p>              In the bathroom, Betty was in the middle of her own battle with crippling self-consciousness. When she’d sauntered away from Jughead, she’d been all sexy little smile and hip swinging seduction but as soon as she’d closed the door, her knees had all but given out from beneath her.</p><p>              She thunked down on the closed lid of the toilet and fought to talk herself down, to bring herself back from the brink of hyperventilation. In the living room, on the couch, she’d been ready to climb that boy like Everest. His body had been hard and sinewy below her and she’d wanted to press down into him until their bodies had absorbed into each other; until she couldn’t distinguish where she ended and he began.</p><p>              Then – he’d stopped them.</p><p>              He’d looked her in the eyes, his own green depthless spears shined and shimmered with sincerity when he’d admitted that he didn’t want to ‘screw this up.’</p><p>              That she was <em>too important.</em></p><p>              She <em>mattered </em>to him – as more than a friend or acquaintance or collaborator – or even just a quick lay.</p><p>              Again, like a bad penny, the idea of her unwanted follower niggled at the back of her mind along with the notion that she should tell Jug about it. She had no more doubts that he would want to know.</p><p>              But everything tonight had been so fresh and new and wonderful and she just didn’t want to spoil it with something so nasty.</p><p>              She had plenty of time. She didn’t think he was going anywhere. She’d tell him later.</p><p>              She undressed, debated for all of about ten seconds about whether or not to just sleep in her bra for modesty’s sake before she decided that comfort was definitely more important and shed the wired undergarment. She pulled Jughead’s ridiculously soft tee-shirt over her head. The cotton hem skimmed the tops of her thighs and the wide neck hung just off of her shoulder. She wondered at how the simple act of wearing his clothes, material that had been against his against her skin, could make her feel so sexual, sensuous, powerful.</p><p>              She splashed her face with cold water, mentally clocked the combination sunscreen/moisturizer in her purse for the morning, shook her fingers through her hair, and opened the bathroom door.</p><p>              Betty emerged from the bathroom, all long bare legs and tasseled hair and for the briefest of moments, Jughead thought he might very well swallow his own tongue.</p><p>              He walked toward her, slipped his hands underneath the shirt to her hips, felt the silky material of the edges of her panties beneath his thumbs. “See, Coop, you come out looking like this and you make me rethink all of that crap I said earlier about moving too fast.”</p><p>              Betty giggled, draped her arms over his shoulders, rubbed the tip of her nose against his, “No. You were absolutely right, Jug. We should take this slow. I care about you too much to blow it.”</p><p>              He winced and dropped his forehead to her collarbone with a thud, closed his eyes in very read pain, “Oh, God, don’t say blow.”</p><p>              She whacked him on the bicep, “You’re such a <em>guy</em>! C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”</p><p>              She crawled into his full-sized bed without the slightest hesitation and when he eased in behind her, she immediately grabbed his arm and secured it around herself, pulled him into a snug, more than willing big-spoon. The last thing he recalled going through his mind before he drifted into slumber was that her hair smelled like some kind of flower and he really hoped that the scent would linger on his pillow for a long time.</p><p>             </p><p>              When the early morning light roused Betty into consciousness, the first thing she noticed was how overly warm she was. She lay on her back with Jughead wrapped around her like a vine and apparently, the boy was a human furnace. The next thing she noticed was his rather impressive morning erection pressed against her hip as if to say ‘hello.’</p><p>              She understood the intelligence behind taking things slow.</p><p>              She really did.</p><p>              But, damn, what a waste.</p><p>              She let herself look at Jug’s sleeping face, so handsome and youthful in its relaxed state. He really was quite prettily featured, smooth, pale, almost delicate. Sharp jaw, long, straight nose, that smattering a beauty marks, those thick, long lashes. As she stared at the shadow those lashes cast against his sharp cheekbone, it occurred to Betty that ‘no sex’ didn’t mean no fooling around at all.</p><p>              She eased him onto his back, made sure not to wake him; then sat up and pulled the shirt he’d loaned her off. What heterosexual male could resist boobs first thing in the morning? She gently crawled over his prone form to straddle his hips, then ran her fingers through his kitten-fur-soft hair.</p><p>              “Juggie,” she cooed, “wakey, wakey.”</p><p>              His eyes blinked open with slow reluctance. He smiled sweetly up at her and closed them again. They immediately sprang back open.</p><p>              Betty grinned, “Morning, Juggie.”</p><p>              “Holy – am I dead?” he asked, “I think I’m have a heart attack.”</p><p>              Betty took his hand and placed it over one of her exposed breasts, “Don’t die on me, now, Jug. We’re getting to the fun stuff.”</p><p>              He nodded with enthusiasm and Betty admired the flex of his abdomen as he pulled himself to a sit-up position to place warm, open mouthed kisses along her neck. His hot, wet mouth had just found its way to her nipple when the door to his bedroom unceremoniously sprang open.</p><p> </p><p>              Jughead would not have been surprised to discover that the night and subsequent morning had been a dream; a hallucination; Heaven its-freaking-self. Falling asleep with and then waking up to an almost naked Betty Cooper seemed way too good to be true.</p><p>              He’d just latched on to suck at one plump, perfect, pink nipple when the door burst open and fucking Veronica Lodge strolled in in her usual manner.</p><p>              Betty shrieked, snatched up a handful of sheets, and dove to the side of the bed in attempt to hide herself away.</p><p>              Veronica slapped a hand over her face and squeezed her eyes tightly closed. She ducked back out of the room and cried, in true exaggerate, Veronica Lodge fashion, “Oh, my God, my eyes!”</p><p>              Jughead rolled his own eyes and was just about to turn to soothe Betty… when she attacked.</p><p>              She went damn near rabid. She hissed and spit and sputtered. Her little bare feet connected with his shins and she pummeled at him with her little closed fists.</p><p>              “You asshole!” she screamed, “You never said <em>anything </em>to me about having a <em>girlfriend</em>!”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>              “What?!” Jughead replied, font of intelligence that he was. (He really was barely functional until he had his coffee.)</p><p>              “He doesn’t!” Veronica called, helpful for once in her life, “Huge fan, by the way! You’re gorgeous!”</p><p>              “What the hell?” Betty asked when she finally stopped hitting him.</p><p>              “Dammit, Ronnie,” Jughead bellowed, “<em>I want my key back</em>!”</p><p>              “Nope!”</p><p>              “Ronnie?” Betty asked, that cute little crease between her brows again, “That’s your friend Ronnie?”</p><p>              “Yeah,” Jughead was at a loss.</p><p>              “You never said she was a girl.”</p><p>              “I never said she wasn’t.”</p><p>              “You don’t think that might have been important information?”</p><p>              “Not really.”</p><p>              “Oh, shush, you crazy kids!” Veronica called, still present in his apartment apparently. He might have to strangle her. He’d miss her, but he <em>would </em>do it. “Get dressed, lovebird! We’re going to brunch. My treat!”   </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That's it for now. What did you think??</p><p>How do you feel about Bughead's progress? When do you think Betty will admit about her creepy, stalker, follower? Should she tell him sooner or later? I CRAVE your thoughts and feedback!</p><p>Leave a kudos for my adoration. Leave a comment for my eternal love. </p><p>Until next time, kisses to all! Bye, now!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, that is what I have so far. It is really just obviously establishing their "meeting" I guess... but, things will get complicated as we go! </p>
<p>Please, please, please let me know what you think. I need the feedback. Should I continue? Or leave this here as a little one shot pony??? </p>
<p>Leave a comment! Let me know!</p>
<p>Kisses to all, bye now!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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